The sky in the room before me is full of activity. Small lights, each of them stars themselves, rising from and falling into various glows on the image of a dark planet that fills the room. There is a distortion in the images created and cast in this vision of where I must be too, patient, hidden, unfound even by myself. I am not helpless, we never are but it is hard to remember a light that goes away. But it’s not the light really, it is the things in it, and in the darkness without it too, coming and going both but me, this place, we stay, at least for a while. My hands large in this museum of air close or try to like a god’s around those small warm lights, so small, blinking, distorted by my closeness now in my want to touch them, love even, then reappeared again when I have made keeping distance more important than touching what isn’t there, not really. It seems to spin in the room, oversized and I can’t tell you how much of my time I have spent looking at it, this place, looking for me, looking for a reaction in these tiny intelligent stars, my chasing hand while beyond this silhouette, a vast graveyard of these lights oscillates, all of them one in stillness anymore.
I have found three windows but they are dirty. I try to see the same world out there but it is a different kind of dark and I go back to the world in the room and the small fountains of stars and I think I must be there, a light myself, my heart it knows something different, quiet, dark.
“How do I work it so I can see the whole planet?” I ask. I have stopped calling him dad. He is not my dad. I call him that once after a fit. I had been sedated I think, I was laying or had been laid down, I do not remember which. It was something about how I saw him, some new light shown on the inside though the room was brighter then, it was always bright when he was near. I said it like a curse. He hears me but says nothing, just like a father. He is nothing like me.
She did not come today and He is packing things in those boxes and making them disappear. I follow him into the rooms. I know that I am different. Before even, before they showed me others, I felt like an ugly child, pupae, born of beautiful parents. He showed me things that he said were inside me too but they did not look like it. I know what’s inside me. It’s always there. Most of the things have been disappeared now. I cannot follow him everywhere. We leave a room and without him I cannot return to it. The wall that unbecame is there again like those lights afraid of my hand. I do not ask him to wait. I stop asking him for anything. But the things he says are inside cry wait, please wait. I do not think he is right about me.
He shows me how to move the world on the array. He changes a color on the feeder, now I can feed myself. HiHhhHHis large hand is warm on my forehead. He doesn’t say he is leaving but he is. I tell my self he will come back, that she will. I wait near the lock sometimes, listening, inventing phantom clicks and gears, that slow door opening, a hiss and a scream of light. He is not there feels better than he came back and then, and then he changed his mind, but still I feel him near.
There is no fighting concessions from an unwilling parent, nor an unable one and the walls that would open for him when he was hear don’t let me near. Are those dry dusty things in me calling out against loneliness. I remember a goodbye where there was just leaving, warmth in his hand, a window and a light. I tell myself his love hid, like my hand too big, that he knew better than reaching.
I am warm. I glow has replaced what used to be an explosion of lights in the rooms and like the small white heads and books and clothes inside of me, I cry too. I watch the last lights leave the dark planet that fills the room. I do not know how to move it anymore. I tell myself, that light, the last one as it meanders then leaves, that it is the two of them, that I was loved, that the small star following some unknowable orbit now is their souls combined and rising into a heaven in my dreams. I look in those deep peripheries, but the lights there just stare.
In all time since I have only ever seen one other star. It swooped and neared. In the door I heard wild stirs in the lock, and still do but that lost thing is hidden again, and now unwatched, still, in the vast fields until I look away and then gone.
I weaken as I imagine I must. I show these words in the array and I make cyphers in my blood but they will not stay. I hear the lock whir but I will not listen anymore.