in her vivid world of make-believe,
the spirited ghost’s soul is free
she flitters around fields of flowers bloom,
the tightness in her lungs at last effumed
she disguises the sadness with bright colours,
uses a palette of rainbow to hide her sick mother
and on the day that her life, her kitty, leaves,
the world she created holds her while she weeps
in the days, weeks, months that follow,
the ghost becomes acquainted with her soul of hollow
she covers her broken heart with tulips and leaves,
searches for specks of colour in her journey with grief
centuries pass, or maybe mere hours,
when the cracks in her heart begin to grow flowers
she is not who she was, not ever again,
but on the soil of axolotl, she learns to live again
-
in the early morning hours of a rainy day, the ghost finds herself sitting alone by the river behind her house. her arms wrapped around her knees, her knees drawn to her chest, she stares blankly as the raindrops send ripples through the river. the storm clouds’ tears feel cold on her skin, but she doesn’t mind the shivers running through her body, or the goosebumps kissing her skin. she pretends that the earth is cleansing her, like she’s being absolved of something.
the tranquility of her waterlogged moment is broken by the sound of a door opening nearby. she looks up, and finds sleepy hooded eyes staring back at her from the other side of the river.
beau.
if it were anyone else catching her in this moment, her cheeks would be ablaze with embarrassment, her eyes flitting away to look anywhere else but at him. but it’s beau, her oldest friend, and she knows that he would never judge her. he’s always been so kind to her, from the day they met when she was only 10 years old. she thinks he was her only friend back then.
god. was that really a decade ago?
though, they weren’t by each other’s side the entire time. there were the months that followed after he abruptly moved away from her in 2013, and the years that followed when she abruptly left him and all her other friends. she wonders if that town still exists somewhere, abandoned. he found his way back to her, in the end. and she tries to find her way back to him.
to herself.
the same softness he looked at her with when she was 10 is in his eyes now, as he offers her a small friendly smile, and crosses the river to get to her.
“hi,” he greets her, plopping down beside her. the grass squishes beneath him.
“hi,” she says back. “what are you doing up?”
“i couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs. “the bugs were awfully loud last night.”
she hums softly. in the time they were apart, his obsession with food had turned into an obsession with bugs. she doesn’t know whether to be worried or not, so she leaves it alone.
they sit in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, lullabied by the quiet splash of raindrops falling. they don’t look at each other.
when she can’t stand the quiet anymore, the ghost says, “y’know, when i came here, i thought about not finding you.”
he turns to look at her then, his stance mirroring hers. “here?”
“the island. axolotl.”
he nods. he doesn’t seem upset by her confession, and she takes that as a good sign.
“why?” he asks.
“because,” she shrugs, “everything’s different.”
“i’m different” is what she really means, but she leaves it unspoken. somehow he hears it, anyways.
the lull in conversation lasts longer this time, the air suddenly seeming colder and thicker than it did a few moments ago. she begins to think that he’s just not going to say anything when-
“things are different,” he agrees, “but i wouldn’t say that’s entirely a bad thing.”
she chuckles lowly, a humourless sound weighed with unpleasant memories and feelings of inferiority. her mind wanders then, plagued by thoughts of the last several years. she remembers a black kitty with dazzling green eyes, whose fur sparkled in the rays of sunlight, her body warm and her expression full of love and contentment.
but then their life together is over, her ataractic purr replaced with a crackling choking sound, her eyes now unfocused and lifeless.
“help me,” she silently pleads.
“i tried,” she says.
she’s brought back to the present by a hoof gently touching her arm. her eyes flit up, startled, but she calms when she sees the gentle concern in his gaze.
“things are different,” he repeats, “and you’re different. we all are. but you’re still you, just a different version. your sadness and your grief are a part of you, but they don’t define you. you are funny, resilient, kind. you always try to encourage others, no matter how scared you are. you are good. those things make you who you are. those haven’t changed.”
her instinct is to argue with him. disagree. she wants to confess all her sins, remind him of her first depressive episode that was exhilarated by him leaving. but bringing up the past has never gotten her anywhere, so she stays silent.
“you will be okay,” he continues, “things will get better. things will change for the better. life will be good again one day.”
in the quiet that fills the rest of their morning, she lets her mind wander once more, considering what he’s said. she thinks of all the friends she’s made in the last 2 years, all those she’s reunited with, the cherished moments like this that slowly breathe life back into her. she thinks of her old friend who sits next to her still, and how she knows he won’t leave her again.
as morning turns into afternoon, the girl looks up at the sky to find the storm clouds gone, gloominess replaced by bright blue and blinding sunlight. she soaks it all in. for her.
perhaps she will be okay after all. not today. maybe not any time soon. but one day.
—
note: welcome to my revamped island journal! if you made it this far, thank you for reading! my pre-existing journal is a mess aesthetically, and i’m not happy with a lot of the entries, so i’ve decided to start fresh here now that i’m back to playing daily! i look forward to sharing future, and probably still sporadic lol, entries with you all.

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