Fate

What does fate sound like to you?

Is it the clash of dishes in the sink being washed after breakfast eaten in the early light of morning?

Is it the muffled hush of bedtime stories told by the soft glow of a nightlight?

Is it whispers of forever spoken into the warm crook of a neck?

Does it sound like stars colliding in violent explosions of life, a celebration of endings bringing existence into beginnings?

Does it sound like the wind bristling between strands of gilded hair, telling tales of flight and freedom?

Does it sound like pen scratching on paper, a spell coming to life amidst the swirls of ink, within the words painted in landscapes across the page?

What does fate sound like to you?

Does it change?

Does it grow to become deafening?

Does is quiet until it becomes a phantom of sound, a noise so still you wonder whether you conjured it's existence out of longing?

Is it a melody that tangles itself in the spaces between your fingers, slipping like sand in the crevices of your palm that life will always find a way to seep through?

Is it a lullaby that keeps you company in the night, when the silver of the moon sets fire to the mist in your eyes?

Is it a scream that tears its way from your throat when the stifling silence of the box in which you have been stuffed inside begins to close its lid on you?

Does it sound like everything?

Does it sound like nothing?

Does it sound like a dream?

Does it sound like a nightmare?

Is it the sound of gravel beneath the soles of your feet as you stand on the precipice of both life on fire and life extinguished?

I do not know the language of my fate. I do not yet know it's songs, it's rhythms, it's ebbs and flows. It is foreign and misunderstood. It is here, and yet there does not exist a way to speak it into fruition. It is alive, but it resides behind a barrier warped with the necessity of a life lived in. It is waiting for me. Waiting for my heart to piece together it's language. Waiting for my soul to glow brighter beneath the flicker of time.

It sounds like the soft rustling of the turning of page in a story I have only just begun to understand.