I once saw the face of God.
A vast and sudden slice of radio silence, among the noisy heavens.
That evening I dreamed that I listened to one side of a conversation I never should have overheard.
And so I do not watch the skies anymore.
I do not look up.
It’s carrying the mass of that silence on your shoulders knowing that the world you were born in, no longer exists, no traces or crumbs
And so I force myself to find how to enjoy the terrible truth, that in that terrible there is terror, and terror is terrific through the memory.
Memory is punishment.
I don’t want to set things on fire anymore, therefore I do.
And from that I must salvage the dancing reds and yellows from the floorboards they just melted, the voices they set ablaze.
Voice is Consequence.
And so I must fall into deep depths of love with people’s passion.
The way their eyes light up when they talk about the things they cherish, and the way I watch them fill with light.
Light is loud.
Once all the damned light I’ve ever seen is spilled out onto my feet, the heavens may redeem their sound.
The noise of their whispers, groans of their whispers and groans of their creasing smiles, and there will no longer be silence.
But until noise is regained, the pungent silence remains.
If I were to tilt my head upwards the skies with oh, so much effort, I might just ever so callously scrape the joy off the mold, and learn how to find the joy in the terrible truth.
Sara Vlahos is 14 years old. She is Greek American and has a passion for literature, Greek mythology, and poetry.
