by Sort of Poet from the Sky
14th November
Dear Diary, today is my birthday, and you were gifted to me by Amalia, my friend — if you can call her that, because I am not sure how long you must know someone to give her a special designation. I am very happy. Even if mom said, she was sorry she couldn’t visit me on my special day, because of the snow. She is afraid of driving in the snow, or maybe she is afraid of seeing me again. But it’s okay, you know, I am used to it now. At the beginning it was harder, when you have to move from a familiar flat to a big house filled up with strange faces. I missed mom, my sister and the cat, but above all, the days I spend in bed, listening to the birds’ conversation. You know, the birds think totally differently from us. They aren’t preoccupied by work, or school, books, philosophy, memories or money. When they converse in harmonious words, they share daily occurrences, their feelings and wishes. They do only expect the others to listen. There is no harm, no violence, they live bonded and do not abandon each other.
15th November
I wish I were a bird.
I wish I were a lovely bird.
I wish I were a flying bird.
I wish I were a bird, whose longings, singings, meanings weren’t overheard.
16th November
What would my birdname be? I should ask my recently met feathered friends. And further, I will need to memorise theirs, as well as their favourite seeds. Mine are sunflower. But anyway, I am confident they will quickly get used to me, knowing birds accept newcomers that speak their fairy melodies. If only I could fly with them…
This afternoon mom visits. There is still snow.
17th November
How long does a drop resist before detaching from earthly existence and plunging into oblivion?
18th November
She was glad to see me. She said my hair was getting longer, that I was getting brighter, that days were shorter and life still disaster. We walked together through the enchanting parc, which I like to call ‘Moonshine’, because everything is white, pure and magical. She made efforts to listen, but still claimed I lived in an overflowing imagination. She didn’t mention taking me back. In fact, I don’t know if I would want to go back to their reality. I am more existing in this endless mansion than I was at home. Here I can freely speak to whomever I please, paint sounds on the quiet walls and learn to fly on my own.
25th of November
I am afflicted by the trees and flowers wilting. Though their inner beauty is eternal, their outer shell fades away due to the lack of warmth and consuming cold. Displacing them into a ‘safer’, ‘more suitable’ environment would be nonsense, they would still dry out. They can only flourish again when they are given light and being loved for their true nature.
30th November
Amalia came to my room yesterday. I let her enter. Usually I don’t like when someone comes into my room, often it means they want me to do something. But Amalia seems different. She looked around and admired the painted poems on the wall, fortunately the caregivers appreciate them too. She asked about them. I told her that I loved discovering how other people look upon this earthly world we share. Putting them on the wall reminds me that there is more than one reality. That there is more than one truth. She deeply admired and even shared my thoughts. That was a wonderful sensation. I think, I could trust her.
4th December
Adding a poem on the wall:
like flowers
in a wood where
nobody goes.
Each wound is perfect,
encloses itself in a tiny
imperceptible blossom,
making pain.
Pain is a flower like that one,
like this one,
like that one,
like this one.
5th December
If I were a flower, would I be a violet Crocus, pushing my head out into the cold and frozen winterworld, bringing some joy and colours into sad existences? Or maybe I could be a Hellebores looking very delicate but being surprisingly tough. I also love Snowdrops, already the name sounds truly romantic. Pale white and green, you would have to look very close to perceive my frail but tender loveliness. Unfortunately, they can’t fly, but I will soon be able to.
8th December
Today I decided to go and talk to Amalia. She was surprised at first, but then very pleased as I suggested to go out. We walked through Moonshine, listening to the graceful cracks of newborn snow under our flitting feet. It was as if we conversed through silence. I appreciated that. We went down to the frozen pond and tried to count the little fishes, which were still remaining alive, it was only December. Amalia had a wonderful laugh, that filled the air with sparkling drops of hope and joy. Her presence melts my lonely plumage. Could she possibly feel what I feel?
12th December
Today Doctor Fellwin met me on a bench in Moonshine. He interrupted the conversation with my friends, who were sitting on silver firs and catching some tickling sunrays. He was kind but curious. Could I trust this adult? Of course, not with everything, he would never look, or talk to me the same way. I know because mother did so, as I confessed being a fairy. I affirmed the doctor I was feeling fine, I appreciated the cold days outside and that I even talked to Amalia. He suggested I joint some courses, of sewing, singing, or science classes ‒ he sees how much I am fond of plants and birds. But he doesn’t understand that I am not fond of them, because that would imply, we were different. But we are not. I belong more to them than to the exhausting existence, everyone excessively complains about. In some days I won’t need the classes anymore.
17th December
Amalia is a peculiar creature. She is small and nimble like a crested tit. She always walks barefoot. I wonder how her body keeps a healthy temperature. Maybe thanks to her heartwarming laugh that penetrates even through the coldest of souls and brightens nebulous days. She says, she was born in this castle and is the daughter of doctor Fellwin, who forgot her existence because of his inconsolable grief for his gone wife, with whom he constructed the fortress in order to give a home to special persons like me and her. She confessed her duty to break that memory spell as she came to me yesterday at the vacant pond. I thought about sharing my secret too, which is nearly brought to fruition, but I didn’t. My feathered friends told me not to trust human beings anymore. Besides, she seems happy with or without me. Still she will be the only one I miss.
24th December
Today is Christmas morning. Everyone is so excited about it. The whole entrance is filled with brilliant lights, letting the mansion appear as a Palace of Ice. I wear my loveliest dress; it caresses the floor as I am hushing through joyful faces, filling themselves up with empty consolations. It is nearly transparent white and decorated with delicate golden stars. My blond hair is sprinkled with silver snowspearls and pulled back into a bun. On my forehead shines a diadem made of tiny, rose blossoms. Today is my day. I am ready to join my friends.
“Amalia, have you seen Hazel, her mother and sister just arrived,” asked Doctor Fellwin holding a glass of bubbling champagne and admiring the warmth and wealth of the house.
“No, I haven’t seen her,” Amalia replied gently, “I will go up to her room and bring her the news.”
As Amalia got to Hazel’s room, she sensed an unusual draught hushing beneath the door and grasping her pale, naked feet. Instinctively she opened the door. There she saw her: Hazel in a miraculous dress standing on the edge of her wide-open window. She was ready to drop.
Amalia cried out, “Hazel, don’t, I need you!”
As she heard this sweet tormented voice, Hazel couldn’t but turned and looked straight in her ocean eyes, which triggered a feeling she never experienced before. A flood of true love withheld her mortal being by bonding it to someone truly breathing.
That day a precious soul was saved from evaporating to soon. Her presence was still required, if only for keeping a balance between marvellous existences and the earth’s imaginary consistency.