Diary extract No. 14
Because, of course, we know the history in the museums. The dinosaur bones that can't creak and the Roman ruins we play sardines in--all the ancient discoveries we found in the dirt and wrote words and words of textbooks about. But isn't there Another History? The one we know from legends and faerie-tales, filled with dragons and heroes and elves and magic. All sorts of wonderful things that people say could never really be Real.
Somewhere along the way, we've devastated one history and made it less Real. It's hidden away because no one can believe in it. Like the faeries winked out of existence; stars hidden in black holes deep within the Milky Way. So, so far away so we must believe with all our teeny tiny hearts to reach it. There are the times, though, where you catch a glimpse of the Other History in the corner of your eye and that makes it all the more easy to believe. It warms my icy insides to know others must be believing, too.
PS. Maman is drawing again. It's nice to sit together and sketch. Like Before.
My days have been spent at the top of attic stairs amongst Old Things. I forget myself up there, I think, surrounded by Dust and Past. It's a tremendous feeling inside my itty-bitty soul, like being caught in the spiderweb that silks between Before and After. It is rather easy for a tiny girl to disappear behind one of the dusty old trunks that reside there. They guard treasures of a life before I was. They share grand secrets with me, hold magical stories of love letters and locked diaries and weathered photographs of people I vaguely recognise, perhaps from dreams.
Sometimes I feel there must be two histories.
Somewhere along the way, we've devastated one history and made it less Real. It's hidden away because no one can believe in it. Like the faeries winked out of existence; stars hidden in black holes deep within the Milky Way. So, so far away so we must believe with all our teeny tiny hearts to reach it. There are the times, though, where you catch a glimpse of the Other History in the corner of your eye and that makes it all the more easy to believe. It warms my icy insides to know others must be believing, too.
PS. Maman is drawing again. It's nice to sit together and sketch. Like Before.
