The lights grow brighter. Fireflies and silver dust motes. They grow bigger and they are anything but flies or dust.

The stars float through the branches. The stars in your eyes. The shining memories of the Old Days. What is in a memory that makes it so bright?

The reflections glow, silhouettes of light flicker between the trees. The lights, the bright stars, the memories, they float higher and higher into the sky. The trees make way, they cannot grasp onto what has no foothold to clutch to.

But you, you are made of memories. And memories hold together as drops of water do. When the lights rise, you rise. The trees cannot hold you now.

The void was darkness. Darkness is nothing. When there is nothing, no light, there is darkness. So when the emptiness is filled, there is everything. There is light. 

The light holds on to you as you fly higher. But the thought lingers, you have further to fall now. More to lose. 

Bu you cannot return to what you left. there is Nothing to look back at, but everything to look ahead at. 

The trees hum a farewell. The sky sings a welcome.The light sheds away.

You hold on.