Under the Glittering Expanse of Stars

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Abstract

eel the shift beneath my boots.</p><p id="4023">It’s not safe here.</p><p id="afea">The end is, by now, inevitable because from the time it’s taken to move from uncertainty to a sure knowledge, too much of the ice has broken, a million tiny cracks stretching into the distance.</p><p id="ad90">Do I stand now and admire the perfect night sky, the glittering expanse of stars, the impeccable roundness of the moon smiling gently down? Do I think back to when the ice was perfect, and I trusted it absolutely to carry me across?</p><p id="e89b">Or do I kneel down so that the tears falling can drip into the cracks, hoping they’ll freeze and mend the breaking?</p><p id="163c">Do I deeply feel every breath in and out while the pain of knowledge is relative and comprehensible? Do I hold onto this moment and be with each beat of my heart before it stops? Do I look for shooting stars or close my eyes and pray?</p><p id="9fb1">Or do I spend the moments I have left with feet sliding carefully along the surface, hoping that the shore is closer than it seems? Do I throw off everything I can to make myself somehow lighter? Do I stay still and quiet to stop it from happening?</p><p id="7204">Do I pretend it’s not happening at all? Do I try to run for safety?</p><p id="0228">I turn my eyes up, up, up to the scatter of stars, my fingers stretching toward them. Held between the shattering ice and the perfect night sky

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, I let out a last breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding…</p><p id="9d80">And drop beneath the surface.</p><p id="159b">My breath lingers a moment in the air before disappearing entirely.</p><p id="fd53"><a href="undefined">Crystal Jackson</a> 2019</p><p id="54b5">Read more like this:</p><div id="88d0" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/love-comes-home-to-me-6329fa3a24d0"> <div> <div> <h2>Love Comes Home to Me</h2> <div><h3>What if Home Didn’t Have an Address?</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*0IXrW-dfUNmhA-mA)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="d5e8" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-words-are-whiskey-caec97288a6e"> <div> <div> <h2>My Words are Whiskey</h2> <div><h3>My words are strong, grit-filled and smoking.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*aQNYF_T64tKAHwVD)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

The End is Inevitable

I can see my breath in the night as I walk solidly across the frozen lake, the stars above my only companion.

At first, the sensation is so small that I can’t quite place it. I can hear a subtle snow crunch-crumble and feel the shift beneath my boots.

It’s not safe here.

The end is, by now, inevitable because from the time it’s taken to move from uncertainty to a sure knowledge, too much of the ice has broken, a million tiny cracks stretching into the distance.

Do I stand now and admire the perfect night sky, the glittering expanse of stars, the impeccable roundness of the moon smiling gently down? Do I think back to when the ice was perfect, and I trusted it absolutely to carry me across?

Or do I kneel down so that the tears falling can drip into the cracks, hoping they’ll freeze and mend the breaking?

Do I deeply feel every breath in and out while the pain of knowledge is relative and comprehensible? Do I hold onto this moment and be with each beat of my heart before it stops? Do I look for shooting stars or close my eyes and pray?

Or do I spend the moments I have left with feet sliding carefully along the surface, hoping that the shore is closer than it seems? Do I throw off everything I can to make myself somehow lighter? Do I stay still and quiet to stop it from happening?

Do I pretend it’s not happening at all? Do I try to run for safety?

I turn my eyes up, up, up to the scatter of stars, my fingers stretching toward them. Held between the shattering ice and the perfect night sky, I let out a last breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding…

And drop beneath the surface.

My breath lingers a moment in the air before disappearing entirely.