They say clouds are made from dreams.

But I don’t think that’s true.

Colored white like lies and

Covering a sky so blue?

They never stay long,

Always on the go.

They bring horrid rain, hail,

Misery, and cold snow.

What kind of dream

Would such a tragedy be?

I think the sky is what holds

The dreams of you and me.

The sky is always blue,

Unless it’s the end of day,

Then it explodes into color, 

Like paint on a blank array.

Even if it’s dark,

It lets the stars glow and shine.

It’s a never-ending expanse,

That withstood the weight of time.

Head above the clouds?

So that head can see the sky.

Even our old proverbs,

Tell us the clouds lie.

We made a sky,

Of hopes and dreams.

Clouds are just doubts

Of what they all mean.

She just so happened to be there that day,

as I was taking a stroll around Glenforest Bay.

So I decided to go and greet her there,

and I told her my name was Sally O’Hare.

“Nice to meet you,” she said with a smile,

and she claimed she had lived somewhere near the Nile.

But of course I knew her words were lies;

she was a pale little thing with ocean-like eyes.

Yet I dared to ask, “Who are you, ma’am?”

And she replied with, “Just me. Just me, I am.”

“Just Me,” I addressed her in a mocking way,

“will you be here tomorrow, right by the bay?”

“Of course,” she answered with a sly little grin,

and off she went, with a small tilt of her chin.

So I came for her the very next day,

but Just Me was nowhere in sight at Glenforest Bay. 

Snow, soft and white, blanketed every inch of the forest, yet snowflakes still fell incessantly upon the ground. The woods were perfectly still, save for the crunching of footsteps made by a girl in a hood.

Her breath was visible as she climbed up the frosty hill, shading her eyes from the dazzling colour of the snow. Finally, she stopped at the very top with a sigh.

She knelt down, and with her bare hand, dusted the snow off of a gravestone. Without even looking at the inscription, she recited in a soft voice, “To live in the hearts of those we love is not to die.”

She paused for a moment, silently reflecting upon something, and then lowered her hood. Perched in her auburn hair was a single red rose, which she gently removed and dropped onto the grave.

“Happy Birthday, Little Brother,” she said aloud, letting her gaze settle on the flower. “How old are you now? Twelve? Wow.” The girl let out a breathless laugh. “You’re growing up so quickly.”

She paused to tuck a wisp of stray hair behind her ear. “I’m doing okay. Winter is always a little bit difficult, but I like seeing the snow. It reminds me of you. Do you remember that snowman we built, about six years ago? He was the ugliest thing on the face of the Earth. Of course, I couldn’t tell you that back then. You adored him.”

“In case you were wondering, Miles is doing fine. He’s still eating everything he gets his hands on. He’s seventeen times fatter than he was when we found him, which is good, but I miss having a kitten running around the house.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, but the girl hastily brushed it away. “I miss you. I know it’s been four years and that I should move on, but the house is so, so quiet. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” She stopped for breath and looked at the epitaph with pained eyes. Voice breaking, she whispered, “You weren’t supposed to join Mom and Dad yet. You were supposed to stay with me.

“I’m sorry for failing you.”

She dropped her head, burying her eyes with her sleeve. It’s no use, she thought. No amount of wishing will bring him back.

Suddenly, she heard a soft voice in her ear. A voice she hadn’t heard in five years. 

“It’s going to be okay, I promise. Please don’t cry. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes, and one day we’ll see each other again.”

The girl spun, and for a split second, saw the smiling face of an eight year-old boy. Then, as soon as he had appeared, he vanished, leaving the girl alone in the forest once again.

What’s the word?

For when the floating lightbulb

Glows above your head?

When you revitalize into life,

From the struggles you’ve faced being dead?

When you’ve figured it all out?

A golden, victorious moment,

And the excitement to just shout.

It makes you feel warm and proud,

And clears your vision like a sky,

Colors revealed by an unknown shroud,

That you never realized covered your eyes.

It melts away your panic, your fear,

All you anxieties just … disappear.

The name of it, I can’t recall …

Eureka!

I’ve got it.