4
"Happy Birthday, mi amor." His mother smiled down at him, giving him a quick rub of the head.
He smiled too, for her tight lipped simper appeared to be a little more authentic, and a little less grief stricken.
"Your father should be home soon. I'll leave you to get dressed." His mother quickly rose from atop his bed, and left in a hurried fashion.
He knew she did not like to be in his room for too long, but that was okay with him.
He didn't either.
His room was both room temperature and quite silent. Neither he was used to, disregarding the fact 4 years had gone by.
He was not alone, not truly. The sound of rustling confirmed this, and he quickly got dressed.
For the rustling meant that he was running late, and running out of time.
He ran past the kitchen, past the smell of lemons and strawberries, past the sound of black and white playing on a worn down screen, and past his mother.
Who seemed to love him almost the same every year.
He had made it to the backyard, which looked almost identical to the front.
Birds flocked and dipped past dancing lavenders and daisies.
Wheat flowing like water on a moonlit night along the direction of a gentle breeze, and leaves flying away in a flurry motion. Carried by the infinite tide of a wind's breath.
He was used to this scenery, a scenery only to be witnessed once every year.
He was not sure if his parents could notice the flowers come back to life, and the sun shine brighter for one day only.
He was not sure if these things were to only be witnessed from one child's mind to the next, but he did know he knew, and he was not certain how he felt about it.
He sighed, the mind of a child still a child could only comprehend so much, but it didn't take critical thinking for him to know this was not something in the definition of ordinary.
The gentle breeze, as if on cue, tickled his nose. For it seemed to have sensed his sadness. He showed only a slight grin, but it was still laced with sorrow.
He swiftly made his way to their tree, and decided to sit on the same branch he always does.
Just in view of the field before the line of trees and shrubs, leading to a never ending jungle.
A jungle his father kept promising to cut down for the expansion of their farm.
A jungle sectioned off from the rest of the land.
A jungle he is not allowed to go near.
A jungle that took half a life, and a piece of everyone's heart that lived on the 50 acres of bulburry land.
He sat and waited, he knew it wouldn't be long. His stomach growled, for his fear of being late cost him breakfast.
He hummed an all too familiar tune, swinging his leg over the other side of the branch.
When something caught his eye.
Just above his head, a little to the right, was a carving.
It was sloppy, made with too much focus and not enough precision. Just barely neat enough for translation.
It was a heart, with s+s engraved inside. Each s was slightly different, and he knew all too well the s on the left side was inscribed by him.
He braced himself on one knee, with his other foot in front of him, and put his hand to the carving.
Smoothing over it lightly, as though pressing into it would make it crack.
He was entranced, so much so that he practically didn't hear it.
Until it made him turn his head.
The sound of childhood laughter, and tiny legs carrying themselves in almost flight across the clean cut meadow ahead.
Hair as golden as honey whipped in the air surrounding them, and for once the little boy found himself out of breath.
The figure running was a world between worlds, and still a part of a world that didn't seem to be hers anymore.
Except when she was running across that same lawn, once every year, in the same direction.
Everytime.
The boy was now standing in awe. The same events were repeating themselves. He was silent, she was running.
On an outwardly never ending treadmill to nowhere. Until she disappeared into the jungle again.
Just like the first time.
He wanted to say something, but his throat was blocked.
He wanted to cry, but his emotions were chained down by emotion.
He wanted to do a lot of things, but, once again, all he could do was stand; and stare.
His eyes were the only thing functioning properly, but even they were beginning to cloud with memories of what used to be.
He then realized something, something that slowly made the force crushing his windpipe disappear.
Something that unraveled his emotions, and drove them to make sound.
After 4 years of silence, he realized.
He wanted her to come back.
It was always in the back of his mind, and yet he was only realizing right then.
That he was grieving, too.
A girl he knew so little, and yet cared for so much. He barely remembered her, and yet he yearned for her to be with him.
Always.