The
Things I Know
These are things I know:
She's gone, and there's
nothing I can do that will change that. I need her. I need her so much, but she's
gone away from here. And I'm so close to her, but so far away. She might as well
be dead. And in truth, that would be easier. If she were dead, I mean, because
that would mean that I could get to her, by dying. But I can't. Because I broke
the subtle knife.
I know I had to, so that
the Dust wouldn't leak away from everything, and so Cittagazze wouldn't be plagued
by specters-but what did Cittagazze ever do for me? another part of me will ask.
Then the sensible part will chime in, saying, "Will you had, too, because everyone
was plagued by specters. Including your mother."
Then there's my mother.
She got better; she's not haunted by invisible demons anymore, and she has work
now. She has a boyfriend, and he's fine. She's starting to live again, and she's
happy.
Mary moved in across the
street from us. She's writing a book on Dust- She's not sure it will get published
or even sell, but I told her it was worth a shot- alternating that with helping
me with my algebra homework. (Imitates Mary in a high voice) It's y=mx+b, Will.
(Reverts back to his normal voice) She's happy, too.
Then there's me. I'm in
school, doing. I'm not happy.
I'd be happy if I had
Lyra, but I don't, so...
I wish I could pray; implore
God to send her back to me. But God isn't there, and no one would hear my prayer.
Maybe that's a good reason to pray then. Because no one will hear. All right, then,
whoever's out there, I need her. Please give her back.
A little voice in my head
is saying, "Maybe she doesn't want to be given back. Maybe she doesn't love
you anymore."
Maybe she doesn't.
But I hope she does.
