At the summit of the hill, I shouted into the wind ‘Nothing of interest!’ because it was true, I had nothing of interest to say. But the act of shouting made me feel better somehow - lighter, warmer, more in control. And I began to spin. I spun and spun and spun until the world became a carousel of colours, a pinwheel of pictures, a gliding, running…something.
I was in that something. I was a something in a world of somethings and someones and somewheres.
I was here.
All that was left to fulfill the brief was to sing and cry, preferably in that order. So I sang the songs of children and I cried the tears of lovers.
I was weak, I was strong, I was fearless and terrified.
I was perfect.
I decided I would title myself ‘The girl on the swing’ though there was no swing and if there was I would not be on it.
Maybe ‘cliche’ would have suited me better as my very being was composed of borrowed words and stolen scenes. I concocted the perfect setting, but my adventure did not begin.
You never came, whoever you are. Fluttering fairy or towering giant or bespectacled man. Nothing changed. My adventure didn’t begin. The setting sun watched me with sad eyes and I smiled bravely back. ‘I am alive’ I whispered into the growing darkness, and it whispered quietly back ‘Yes. Alive and alive and alive.’
It was true, I was light and warm and a something and ALIVE.
And oh, how beautiful it felt.