My feet crunch in the snow, breaking the thin icy layer above. I run swiftly, but not so quick that my breath leaves my lungs- or that my feet leave my boots buried in the snow.

aesthetic, snow, and cold image

As I run, my mind travels.

It travels to the flat in England, where I grew up.

girl, photography, and aesthetic image

It travels up with the plane that dragged me to Spain, where I was so scared and alone all of a sudden.

espana, madrid, and spain image

It traveled all the way to the hospital, where my mother let out her last breath. Where I couldn't breathe anymore. Where I started falling apart at the seams.

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It travels to Iceland, where my father took me to escape the memories of our previous home, or previous life with my mother. But the memories followed. Being here doesn't make me forget, it just reminds me every moment of how I ended up here.

nature, beach, and sea image

Then, my soul climbs back into my head. I realize I can no longer see the neighborhood. It's just me, the snow, and the sky.

As I run out of breath, I plop myself down in the snow and I cry.

And I can't stop.

I let every moment escape from my eyes and roll off my face, into the ground. Every memory. Every part of me, drowning in tears.

As I look up, time seems to freeze.

I no longer feel the cold sting my face, I don't feel the texture of the snow beneath my legs, and I don't hear the wind or the water.

All I see are the brilliant green streams above me.

aurora borealis, nature, and northern lights image

The neon colors make it so hard for me to believe that these are actually a part of nature.

Sometimes they look very strong, so fearless and bright.

Sometimes they look so weak that it looks like they'll turn into sand and fall out of the sky, landing on the ground making a tranquil whoosh.

They stand out in the blue and purple sky. They outshine all the stars.

They make me want to join in. I want to be a fearless light in the sky.

amazing, aurora borealis, and europe image

I want to let them carry me back to England.

Maybe I can convince myself that my mother is still behind the turquoise door. I can almost feel myself opening the door, only to take in a whiff of warm chocolate cookies, fresh from the oven.

I can taste the tea I wash the cookies down with. I hear the laughter of the children next door. I can picture my mother's white, silky apron dotted with both old stains and fresh batter...

breakfast, coffee, and Cookies image

only to realize there is nobody behind the teal door anymore. If there is, they don't know me. They don't know my mother. They don't know how much I want to go back.

They don't understand.

And they never will.

But these lights seem to know my agony and fear.

door, flower, and grace image

I want to become one of those lights.

I want to go up with them.