Heartlights

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

She hadn’t noticed Jigano approaching, senses off-kilter, too exposed, too raw, to do anything but stare at the ground, then back up, along the lanterns christened for those gone. Isuma and Fangorn were another thing altogether, bobbing and weaving amongst one another, the gourd likely grateful to have a friend not hampered or diminished by illness; but she figured it would past, and she’d burn bright again. His quiet, hushed inquiry washed over her, and for a half a moment, she wanted to refuse the notion. They were hers, and hers alone, and those selfish intervals were the only things she had left (the beautiful sing-song notes and lullabies her mother instilled, as they picked wildflowers and found her preferred herbs, the gentle, kind, beneficence Clementine always extended, the rapturous smile, the way they protected and guided one another). Why should anyone else have them? But then, a darker part of her wondered why it mattered, if it was all right to let the rest of the world hear about them, wonderful, sacrificial souls, who deserved far more than they ever received. Her fingers intertwined, clutched and grasped together, striving for that comfort, that solace, they’d always provided: family, gone and gone and gone again. “The orange one is for my twin sister, Clementine. We were nothing alike.” She laughed there, but then it vanished, quick, subtle ethers of instigations and clarity beyond the sickness’s haze. “She was compassionate and kind. There wasn’t a gentler soul.” The gilded set of her stare meandered to the lilac one, for the beatific woman who’d tried to raise her into something, who allowed her to dream and wander and be inspired by every curiosity, every powerful, potent emblem, who worried but knew, understood, the nature of her daughter. “This one is for my mother, Najya,” and she’d carved her name beside her own, made it a legacy to honor and uphold. “She was a healer in my kingdom. She was much like my sister.” Which meant, despite never truly knowing him, Melita must’ve taken after her father. Thanks to Sunjata’s explanations and details, no lantern had been made for his existence – uncertain if he was still amidst the living, or worth the effort at all. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe