The Journey


She was falling.

The soft velvet darkness around her was somewhat reassuring. It was familiar. She had been falling through it for so long she had become part of it, in a way. Distant shimmers relayed messages in unknown languages and she did not so much heard them as felt them. She wondered if it was some kind of code, or maybe it was just the random thoughts of the Universe.

Or maybe it was her own thoughts, reflected back to her.

She was falling, a little cloud of dust and hope.

The silence was so deep she could hear her own rustling movement like one would hear the ocean breeze on a deserted beach.

When she felt the warmth, she knew she was near. A journey, as long as her own life, was coming to an end. She didn’t know happiness, and yet she somehow felt it.

She was falling, and shining.

It was still dark, but she could see the first flickering spots of light dancing far below. The colours around her were a warm, fuzzy mass of dark blues, dramatic reds, and deep greens. She was all those colours herself, and she was as happy as she could be, falling to the end of her mission, a little shining cloud of dust and hope.

She swirled some more, danced some more, shone a little brighter, and just before she lost her shine in a cold brief snap of a moment, she could hear the words:

“Look! A shooting star! Quick, make a wish!”

She was no more, and it was all right. Maybe her journey would begin again somewhere in the infinite ocean of time, in a thousand years, or in the blink of an eye. Time is strange, and so is hope. And both are infinite.


This text in Bulgarian.

photo credit:, Pixabay

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