In the darkness electric, Persephone went back through the ages to times before time. Times before love and the broken hearts, before Siegfried and the river. She went back to a time where she had never been hurt and she was sure she was dead. But still, for some bizarre motive, death granted her with a peace long forgotten. The soft light of her childhood fell gently upon her, filling enormous gaps within her memories. Memories before her first love, when she was four. Well, it was not love, for she was too young to love, but it was her first friendship. And it all was so simple and sweet. All so tranquil and flooded with childish laughter. All the memories that should have kept her here, all of the memories that should have healed all the broken hearts. But we are doomed to forget. And sometimes we forget we forget.
Persephone sat beneath a great willow tree and witnessed that pure joy. Those simple fantasies. Those simple dreams. Her long flowing hair was caressed by a gentle soft breeze. A summer breeze that flooded her heart with light. Enchanted she approached the little girl she once was. She wished she would have kept that simple and joyful spirit all along. But life and the world were not meant for children. And all children must grow up and forget. For that overwhelming joy, and that light heart, and all that laughter are not useful when it comes to survive. At least physically. Seems that our emotions evolved faster than our instincts. Or maybe, when we are four and so unbelievably happy, we just can’t imagine that feeling must end. So we go through all that joy as if it will be still here tomorrow. When are we forced to let go of that feeling? Why all childhoods must be spent and gone in the blink of an eye? Why must all lives be lived in the eternal condemn of forgetting that we used to be happy? Because such a memory could have saved more than one life, more than once.
She knelt by her own side and caressed her much younger self’s cheeks. They were softer than she could ever imagine. Her bright red hair was so full of life. Her smile was so tender. Yes, she was dead. And in death, or maybe in the poet’s kiss, she had found an eternal joy. Or at least the memory of what eternal joy should feel like. The girl’s green eyes met the ones of her older self and she felt sad. Her on eyes were so tired and gad cried so many unnecessary tears. The girl embraced herself and opened her heart to herself. And in the pure white light of happiness, Persephone poured her tears on her own young and joyful heart.
