Opia.

¤ f o u r ¤

Cynosure. n.

1. a person or thing that attracts notice, especially because of its brilliance or beauty

2. something serving for guidance or direction.

Etymology: from Latin Cynosura, literally "dog's tail", from kyon (genitive kynos; see canine) + oura, "tail."

¤ ¤ ¤

The angel had been stolen. He had been able to grasp him in between the palms of his hands, holding him close to him, not letting it fly away with his graceful wings. Yet in a second, someone had snatched him, and only air had been left in his place.

For a week, Kimmon had only been able to catch brief glimpses of him, none of them enough to satisfy his craving. Kimmon was angry at the universe, he felt betrayed. No matter from where he looked at the situation, he couldn't drift his mind out of one question.

Why had the world given him the chance to be in the presence of him if he was meant to be taken away from him?

He had thought, believed, that for once, he had been blessed with a direction, with a path to follow. He had gotten to the point of wondering if the universe had actually seen him worthy of being in front of something extraordinary, of a marvel. He had never seen himself as good enough for the world to reward him with kindness, he was sure that that was why he was so lost. Yet for a short time, they had made him believe that he deserved it, that he deserved being blessed with an angel in his life.

He didn't, he soon realised.

Whenever Bas came into the café, he would never look at him. He would bring his book and read it, and he would order coffee and only drink half. And before Kimmon's performance ended, the tall man would come through the door, heading for the angel, and they would shortly leave. Bas was not waiting for him anymore in front of his place, he would always come after Kim started and would leave before he finished, just like he used to do before. And everytime Kim tried to search for his eyes in the distance, while his music danced inside the dark room, he would never find them, because the black voids would remain hidden under the white locks of hair while they scanned the pages of the book.

And everytime he failed to find him, Kim's voice would waver, and it would crack, and the melody of the song would go missing.

And everytime, Kimmon felt more lost than he did before, because now he was alone again, wandering in this dark, scary town, with the wind blowing and his hoodie hiding his sorrows.

And Kimmon wondered, as he watched the empty streets and the closed windows during his walk home, if this was all that there was to life.

¤ ¤ ¤

At home, things had worsened.

Kimmon had said before that if he were to be living with a ghost, that he wouldn't be bothered by it, because what was happening were only nice things to him. Someone making him company, bringing him his socks after he had forgotten them in his bedroom, preparing him coffee. How would he be upset by any of these?

However, the kindness had been cut short, just like everything in his life was.

Now whenever he arrived, he would find something strange waiting for him. Sometimes it was a chair knocked over that he blamed on the wind -even if the windows had been closed before. Others, his clothes on the wardrobe would appear thrown on the floor in front of it. And he would no longer feel accompanied. No, on the contrary, the presence that he had been feeling was not there anymore, and now Kimmon would feel lonelier than ever. He was used to it, though, Kim had been lonely for more than a year now, after his parents had left him, he could handle the solitude.