Ophelia

I can’t see your face. I can’t see your face.

Oh, God, if I see your beautiful face, one more time, it’ll kill me. Just kill me.

I gotta go. I am not turning back.

I won’t turn back.

That horrible raven snatched you from me. He grabbed you and hid you away. He threw me in the nest and I had to cover my eggs, protect them until they hatched and grew strong enough to make it on their own.

To fly and be free.

But, you knowing my life and where I was at, my beautiful, special, lovely hummingbird, I can never be free, can I?

I am sorry. So sorry. But I am flying now.

In a sea of salty, airy, sweet, damp sky.

I am but a common bluebird, but I can’t help it that I fell in love with you.

You fluttered and glided like a dream, chirping and prancing about my heart—-how could I not love you so?

But my big black raven, he is so mad and loud, always crying so loud.

I escaped into the dead of night, my wings barely skimming the solid, silent nightscape, a nightmare that tore through my chest as my tiny body trembled and my heart pounded.

But, I can’t imagine your beautiful face.

Not like this.

It reminded me of that broken painting I found smashed in part near our river bank. I saw the human’s agonized expression. It was full of despair. Agony and despair. I could tell she had lost something or someone incredibly dear to her.

And it reminded me of your poor fractured wing, my love. That expression of the human girl was your living nightmare. It was a mirror and a horror to live it, but we were.

I feel your buzzing, fluttering heartbeat as your body lay tucked under my more hearty wings and I feel your shoulders and feet clinging to me voraciously, tenderly, and with tenaciousness as I wordlessly fly. I continue without feeling tired, hungry, thirsty or worried. I just keep gliding through the night, and I know I can’t stop to worry. I can’t slow down to look at your face. It’ll kill us if I stop now.

I had once teased you about your flight pattern(“You remind me of that ice skater human who was making figure eights!” I had twittered, and you scoffed, flying up and down angrily in a haughty way. I turned and whistled out lowly, with a wink, to try to assuage you, “Your flying is very pretty, way more interesting than a human’s figure eight,” and then you stopped mid-air, and chirped, “Why, thank you. But, I don’t think it’s true.”)

How can you be so unaware of your beauty? Your grace? Your heart and your brilliance?

The days flew by and I brought you luscious flowers to give you nectar and seeds I thought you would’ve enjoyed. I tried to get to know you. To learn more about you.

“Sarah, do you know spring is coming nearer? I smell it on the air..” I declared and you shook your delicate, tiny head, squeaking.

“No, no. It’s in the air. Not on the air. How can you smell spring, Lynn?” You asked.

“It’s in the air, then,” I amend and you laughed in this breathy twitter, making me laugh too. I move closer to you on the branch of the tree and you scooted closer too. “It’s just the way the seeds start moving from the ground and sprouting out tiny things and all the other things that are opening up and smiling at us, to say hi to the sun.”

You squealed out a tiny breath and whispered in a tiny chirp, “You have a sweet way of seeing it.” And we cuddled together, my wing covering us in a warm embrace.

But, it was not meant to last, the peaceful days.

The tall black raven had been eyeing us all along.

He would squawk and yelp and cry, and whisper me things late at night.

“You are all mine, little blue bird.”

“You cannot leave me.”

Dark black eyes over a pale white moon and gravely, threatening words.

He found you and hurt your wing after he found out our plans to leave, also planning to damage my wings as well.

But, I found you, my hummingbird love, and we found our escape. Late into the sacred, silent night.

I carried you, my darling Sarah, until day break and though it was the most terrifying ride of my life, we found a faraway place, a safe haven.

You pecked my beak and kissed me, and I felt at ease, resting against your fast beating breast.

“Thank you for taking me home,” You whistled in my ear, and I know without anymore words what you meant.

You were my Ophelia, and we changed the story, my love.