once-heart

I do not remember my name. That should not pose a problem. After all, it is just another word assigned to me.

My name is not me.

This problem gets in the way of my duty, so I try to remind myself of what I am good at. Of what I love. Of whom I love.

My own memories were never crystal, but I know my friends were there—I could never forget their light. They were there.

Even now, some Stars glow red while others blue, bright or of a deep hue, almost blending in with the black blanket where we reside. Some twice the size of the Sun, others like a dot, but still present. If I were to pick a body for myself, I would be unlike their fiery passion; I would be small. I would be a blushing speck, a stain. A red mark, and red means this is wrong (my memories are wrong), this is imperfect (my memories are fragmented)… I am not meant to be here.

My guiding Stars believed otherwise.

They were… eighty-three. Linked through a line that kept them intact for eons. That “line”—that was me. I was (and still am) a symbol, more like, but to this day I can still feel the warmth they radiate, the tightness in their grasp, the care in their gaze.

One day, my grip loosened. The Stars drifted away even as I tried to gather them back in my embrace. In my arms they turned into grains of sand, trickling, mimicking the passage of time.

That was not supposed to be possible. I would have known—should have, as that is my duty. And yet, in that moment, I froze. And that moment stretched out, walking onward, unwilling to let me process the scene before me.

The Stars were moving. They were slipping away from me.

Some were pulled by the blanket, tucked to sleep and never to wake again; others were fragmented into pieces I could no longer call friends, crashing into the other Stars beyond.

I screamed, for sure. In my futile attempt to call on the other Stars, no voice escaped me. I thought I was dreaming. I thought I was weak. So I thought time would help me heal, and I let the years pass me by.

And here I am: the only words I hear are my own dreaded thoughts, cramped, searching for space in my head—if I even have one.

Without the Stars, I have no body. I am no body. Lost both in name and people.

I would rather indulge in myself… look back… close my senses and return to the past… even if it is only my imagination…

Back then, with the Stars, I was the heart. I was the emissary. An emissary’s duty is… to deliver the truth. But what if I preach lies—did I lead the Stars to their demise? Regardless, I cannot speak, and no one is around to hear me.

Now, this truth—is it, perhaps, my truth? That makes more sense, isolated as I am in this space. That must mean I have something to say.

Something that only I can say… and for myself.

Without the Stars it is as if I no longer exist—for what reason do I have to keep going, with no one to live for? With no proof of our life and love, our paradise?

My indistinct shape—the line that weaves the cosmos and light, but then unraveled by time and motion. With nothing but that, I am just a name—and a forgotten one at that.

I was nothing all this time. My name was all I ever was. My memories—who is to say that they are right, now? “The emissary that sung dreams,” a laughable thought.

But… that is the truth.

I can’t deny this guilt for leaving my name astray, losing it to time and trouble, but if there is one thing I am certain of, it is thus:

The Stars gave me my name.

All these years, I… I thought that ever since they disappeared, so has our people, our home…

But that is not possible; I should have known. Their memories have been here all along. Through their essence, they sustain me, and that is proof enough.

I have always been the line that weaves the cosmos and light; I will always be the Stars’ home.

This is the duty I bear: the Stars assigned me this, for they knew they would dim and crumble one day, tangible yet fleeting as they are. I am not “just” a name—I am the one they call home.

I know that I am here—a heart of my own.

My duty carries on, unyielding to the thrashing of time and of haunting souls. I am needed: if not by the Stars by my side, then by myself. To believe that this is the end is to dismiss their existence and mine. Even if they are no longer, they once were. My soul lives on, just as their souls live on in me.

I still do not remember my name, but I know my guiding Stars would forgive me. It may come in time, it may not; what I do know is that these memories—no, these feelings—are something I can hold on to. If I had a body, I would expand and etch upon my skin everything I know and love. A reminder to myself, and a sign for others: this is who I am. A union of people, of ideas, of experiences. Alas, I will have to settle with this warmth rising inside me (that is enough). It’s not that I refuse to let go; in fact, walking forward will only be possible with this weight, an anchor, guiding me.

With what I do have, I will treasure.

These are my memories.

I was entrusted with the Stars’ legacy.

The time will come when the dark blanket envelopes me and tucks me into its depths, when I will enter a slumber eternal, my duty fulfilled.

For my guiding Stars now fallen—I will remember you, and carry you unto memories of a possible future.