You caught me in the rose bush and the laughing hurt my sore body.
And you told me we could be in the house instead. We’d go through the creaky old door and we’d eat chocolate-covered strawberries. I thought this skinny boy in my t-shirt was an angel.
I watched through the window as I fell off the oak tree, and I thought to myself, wow, that really must have hurt.
One day you’ll be looking at the night sky here in Finland, and it will be full of stars, the Milky Way curving above you. And any spot you look at, the longer you keep your gaze still, the more little stars you’ll see.
That somehow feels so fundamentally soothing, on an almost spiritual level. You gaze into the abyss, and the abyss takes no notion of you whatsoever. You realize just how tiny and inconsequential all your problems are. In a moment they’ll be gone, and the stars won’t have noticed. What was I even worried about?
“Who are those people?” he asks.
Those are the ghosts of my past selves, bracing for an impact that never comes.
Just like you, now, are recoiling from the rain as I reach out and let the drops pour over my open palm.
I let the tears wash over my sister’s face, so later peonies can bloom pink across her cheeks and a new life can stream through her veins.
I let her grab my stretched out hand and pull me outside, into the humid air; the garden still sparkling with dewdrops.
My name is Kaamos. 