There's too much snow, he had said. It's going to melt and flood the rivers, he had said.
I sat dazed at those words; images of what he saw a disastrous flood, a calming wave to me.
I could already feel the sun kissing my skin, slowly fading away as the stars twinkled into view.
It's always the same, he had said. You are always lost in your head, he had said.
He urged me to take heed of Rorschach as if he were my best friend; as if he were someone that I should be listening to.
Yet I wasn't with him, or with Rorschach. Or even the hundreds of dusty beings staring back at me. I was with the stars over that beach.
Amélie, he said. Look at this blot, he said. I was under a different waterfall now, basking under the glinting tears that kissed my face, touching my pain more than he was.
I rode that waterfall; rode it past the thorns that wanted to prick me. The thorns that pricked at my soul. The ones the burdened me every waking hour of every waking day.
Amélie, he said, please focus. My time with you is short, he said.
Time kept fleeting away, nestled amongst the thorns on the river bank. The numbers watching me; the minutes mocking me. Yet I was too detached to care.
What do you see?, he urged, as if he were desperately trying to call me back before I went over the waterfall.
"I see splash patterns," I said.
There's too much snow, he had said. It's going to melt and flood the rivers, he had said. I careened over the waterfall.
He's been dead a year, Amélie, he said. I knew that. I always knew that, but I refused to believe the truth. I only wanted to see splash patterns in my head.