Ode to a Magpie

She made it all worthwhile. The white-blonde hair and tinkling laughter dizzied Rebekah. She had only known the girl five hours, but already it were as if years had passed.

The sun didn’t need to shine. As traffic screamed on and children cried, all that mattered was the lovely face in front of hers.

Presently, their lips locked. Arms, fingers, toes, enveloped at once in a thrilling and everlasting embrace.

The wind picked up, blowing her hairs and the corners of her skirt in its breeze, and yet she remained, ever-present, dignified, strong.

Those wasted summers and wanting winters were forgotten by their mutual breath. Rebekah at once understood living. The harshness of a life she had deemed so brutal was alleviated and lost. The barriers disengaged and discarded themselves, now simply the laughable constructs of her exhausted mind. She had wanting nothing until love had arrived, and now she wanted nothing else.

Their strides were twins of the same form – the same passion, the same longing. She knew not where they were headed, but it did not matter. She was made up now. Ready for the end and so ready for eternity.

The crowds were fast and eager to push, so she held on to the slender white hand; so slender, so soft.

As it slipped away, she quickened her grasp. She started, made to follow. Too late.

Her heart beat out her chest. Lost and in panic, all she could do was stand rooted to the spot. She would not cry out and could not weep; she could only fumble. Fumble at the clothes that now protected her from every other stranger. Fumble for the belongings that had been in her pockets only minutes before. Fumble for her lost heart, teased out and toyed with and now trashed on the subway floor, replaced all too suddenly with doom and sorrow, as the walls of familiarity came back down around her.