1460 / Poetry

1460 / Poetry

It had been 1460 days now since the last time her arm was simply an arm. Her leg simply a leg. Her head simply a head. 

Nui had crouched once, sitting back on her ankles, then stood up again in a fluid motion. She had bathed and showered and swam. She had breathed and sneezed, never thinking much of either.

In the buttercups were butterflies, in the trees birds. In the grass little snails. In her hand a pen and in her eyes lay Fain.

He loved her. She loved him.

It had been 1460 days now since the last time she thought of nothing much. It had been exactly one hour since she knew she had to leave. 

The corridors around her had doors, but she never opened them. It was time now.

I’ll always be behind one, said Fain. When you are ready to come back. She knew. But she wouldn’t come back here. He knew. 

The handle was cold and smooth. It was not hard to choose it, it was right above her hand. The door swung open easily. No noise, no worries.

She knew of course, that in here would be dark, and in here would be lonely. In here would be her. The door closed, and she was submerged. Dark. Crawling. Fearful. She breathed, and it hurt. She screamed, and it hurt. She cried, and it hurt.

The little light on the floor was born from those. Tears. Screams. Breaths. Hello, she said. It was quiet, and small. She traced its edge with her finger. Drawing it out. Contracting it. I can swallow you up again, she said. One foot found the centre, and she stepped inside. 


It was velvet. It was air. It was nothingness. She travelled. Down. Up. No direction. No meaning.

A hand on her cheek. Hello, said another she. Small, so small. Hello said she back. I kept this for you, said little she. A waterfall. I knew you’d forget.

I forgot, said she. No, I remembered, but I forgot… And little she jumped in. 

Your joy. 

Come, said little she. Water cascading. And she took a step, and she floated. And she floated to the top. Only sky there. Not blue. Not grey. You can do it now, said little she. Fly.

And she did. And lightning struck. And the fear returned and her room was below her and the sky gone. 

Here, said another she, and kept her in place. Just watch. There are no rules here. A thin line appeared. So thin as near invisible. And so sweet and calm. And friendly. We’ve been here once before said other she. Long ago. It needs another footprint. Many more, many more. And she glided over the room, under the sky, onto the line. So new it was. So ancient. So right.

Fain, said she. He was there too. I don’t need my rooms. 

You don’t need your rooms, said he. 

And lines appeared everywhere. Faint and beautiful. And infinite and hers.

Infinite and hers.