ANGELS ON CRACK

b e l l s

the bells are tolling.

midnight strikes the quiet town like a mellifluous whisper weaving through owl feathers. ding, dong! the metal clapper kisses copper curves.

it is the thirteenth of december.

the christmas lights glimmer against the inky veil like a plethora of tiny stars held up by rubberized yarn. it mocks the clear skies, the billowing cotton, and the moon by her lonesome.

perhaps altair felt your anguish. maybe vega bore witness to the diamond streams pouring out of your griefstricken corneas. or did arcturus hear the whimpered pleas pressed against your palms, pleas that rode the peppermint tinged breeze, wrapped around decorative reindeer antlers, and eventually arrived to the kingdom of the stars.

whatever it was, they have left you. hid behind onyx curtains and poorly veiled fibs. relinquished their minuscule glow from the mortals.

did they think they were doing you a favor? they weren't. you relied on their being constant. you traced names across their expanses and drew minks against nothing as you begged them to keep your confidence.

now you had nothing.

la lune was whole that night. she boasted her perfect frame and preened her gown as she reflected the fiery glow of le soleil. and yet you search for sirius, for betelgeuse, and for the lost spheres of hope. you beg artemis for forgiveness .

the bells continue to weave notes in between wreaths and pine needles, until a tapestry of faith hangs between the church beams and the giant plastic star donning a festive coat.

you squeeze your eyes shut– the stars are not there to press hugs of consolation against your skin. ding, dong! it relentlessly crashes in waves, pouring through your ears until you cannot hear anything else other than the bells.

messe de noël dances its way through the church doors, curling its fingers around the groaning organs, pulling up the chins of the effervescent choirboys, injecting hope into the churchgoers' lips.

and yet you do not puff up in happiness.

you lose yourself in silhouetted fantasies of your past fabrications. ten months ago you imagined this day to be spent in an elegant frenzy, another set of bells ringing in diamond studded ears. strong arms would be wrapped against your shoulders, ones that exuded visions of what could be.

and yet there you are, sitting on a snow-dusted park bench, your mother's old shawl draped against freezing limbs as you watched the holiday cheer prance around in ruby, blue, and green.

you release a sigh.

you shake off the snowflakes.

you look up to the empty night sky.

and you beg the stars to reveal themselves once again.

don't leave me too.