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They say that the end of a story is simply the beginning of another. Today, our story ends with a plane soaring across the sea and a dead man resting in a library.
Today, our story begins with you.
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The wind pushes and pulls
A lover’s caress
A man’s last inhale
My feathers lift
Your fur ruffles
The tide pushes and pulls
A lover’s lips
A man’s last exhale
My feathers fall
Your fur stains
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You fell in love with a wildcat, but that wildcat did not belong to you. And that was fine, you never needed it to. In fact, if you had it your way, that wildcat would never belong to anyone.
And so you made it wings.
You made it wings, ones made of wax and feathers. You told it that you could both fly away and be free, away from the world that wanted to hurt you both. It believed you, and so you both flew over the ocean into the sky.
But the gods had long since decided that the lynx you love had taunted them far too much, and so it crashes into the sea behind you while you keep soaring on, and on.
When you get to the other side you will sit there - just for a moment - with the ghost of the pain yet to come brushing itself against the walls of your chest, warning you. You will not cry, you will not sleep - nothing has really settled in - but you will wonder to yourself if it was worth it to try and escape at all.
And you will mourn, and mourn, and mourn.
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“ Taming a monster, ”
They whisper but I know more
I cherished a man
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You fell in love with a wildcat, but that wildcat did not belong to you - you knew that from the start. Though people would whisper of the lynx who had been tamed by a bird, you knew that it was far from the truth. Wildcats couldn’t be tamed, didn’t need to be. They were not built to be clothed in chains and surrounded by metal bars, they were not built to be guided through fiery hoops in front of an audience, and they were not built to be forced to stay docile by human hands.
They were built to be free, and you naively thought that you could give this particular wildcat - bred and raised with no idea of the life it should’ve lived - a taste of that freedom.
You built it wings of wax, one’s just like your fleshy, feathery ones, but wings were not something the gods permitted lynxes to have. And so, those wings melted, and it crashed down into the sea.
You can’t help but think about how it could have, should have, made it.
Ash Lynx did not belong to you, and you knew that. He didn’t belong to anyone, not men with dirty hands, or mafia bosses with cages, not even to the gods. But you belonged to him, and now he belongs to Death.
The Grim Reaper is a possessive lover, she will not let him go easily. You will plead, you will sob, and you will offer your soul, but she will not let go of the boy - the wildcat - that you love. She will not answer your pleas, and she will not take your soul. She already has it after all. Your soul belonged to him, and everything that was his became hers.
You do not ask her for your soul back. She does not ask why.
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When my wings were broken
Clipped and useless
I soared
Just for you
When I was prey
A lone little rabbit
I played predator
Just for you
When you lied on that mountain
Not human nor leopard
You died
Just for me
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You fell in love with a wildcat, but that wildcat did not belong to you. It envied you instead. The idea would’ve made outsiders laugh. A lynx, a god, envious of a common bluebird? It was unheard of. Nevertheless, it envied you, your wings, your freedom.
Little did that lynx know, you had long thought that you’d never fly again.
It was a lesson in hubris, you had pushed your wings to their limits - your body underfed and your muscles sore - in an attempt to reach the gods. And though your wings were not made of wax, you still came crashing down. Your wing broke, and you were told you’d never be able to fly as high ever again. The gods mocked you for months afterward.
Naive little songbird, who said you were welcome here?
And you were afraid. You dared not fly, in fear of angering the gods once more and losing your flight altogether.
And then you did, if only to save a lynx .
Without even knowing it, that lynx gave you the strength, the courage, to flap your wings again. How fitting, it seems, for that very same lynx to be the one to clip them.
Concrete ledges are not made for flightless birds, but tonight you stand on one anyway. You teeter dangerously over the edge, and wonder if dying is worth the illusion of flying again. Who will save you, if you decide it is?
Ibe-san’s hands are trained and molded to hold cameras, to capture beauty in things that aren’t beautiful. He did that for you once, and now here he is using those same hands that gave you hope to cradle you and carry you down from the ledge. He holds you carefully, just like he does his camera. You wonder if he sees you as just as fragile.
He tucks you into bed, but you still feel the concrete beneath your feet. The rough edges digging into your heels, the wind on your face. You don’t tell him any of this. He worries too much about you - always has - and saints should not focus on naive, flightless, little bluebirds.
You go to sleep, and dream of flying. Falling.
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These claws are stained with red
They crush petals, catch on thorns
They bathe in blood
They held you without any malice
They cut your weeds, kissed your thorns
They hold my love inside
Thank you for singing to me
For flying up high, for loving me
For not fearing my paws
These hands are stained with blue
They cradle songs, grasp letters tight
They reach for you
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You fell in love with a bluebird, and though your bluebird was blessed with the freedom to fly anywhere, it chose to belong to you. It cared for you without ever wanting anything in return, and for a moment you convinced yourself that you could die happy. A leopard on a mountain, a wildcat with Death’s lips pressed against your side.
You could die happy, it would be so easy.
But against all odds, your bluebird loves you, and it gave you its soul on a silver platter as if you were supposed to have it from the beginning. Against all odds, it cares for you, it wants you alive. You can’t let it grieve you, not when you haven’t even thanked it.
Death sinks her nails deep into your skin, but you will not let her take you. You refuse. You will fight against her with all the strength of a lynx, and you will make it back to your bluebird.
You aren’t a leopard, you will live.
So with a blood-stained letter in your hand and a bird’s song playing deep in your heart, you decide on this cold winter day, that for once in your life, you will be human.
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I looked at your face
Looked at you
Over again, I fall - fly
Viridescent, sparkling, beautiful
Everything I missed
You’re here somehow
On stable ground, you stand tall
Until she comes, you’ll stay
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You fell in love with a wildcat, but that wildcat did not belong to you, and that was okay. But then that wildcat was whisked away by Death, and suddenly it wasn’t okay anymore.
Death will not give the wildcat back willingly. Knowing that sends all your hope plummeting; for you never learned how to fight. Not really. You’ve gripped glass in your bleeding hand with the intention to slit a throat, you’ve pointed guns at heads with the intention to shoot, but the weight of a human life is something your wings never learned to bear.
You cannot carry it. Not to give to Death, or to take from Death. You are simply not strong enough - not like the lynx, who’s always lived carrying the weight of life after life after life. That wildcat is gone now, and things have never felt more hopeless.
But then, despite everything you might have thought, it escaped.
And it came back to you.
Ash Lynx does not belong to you, but he fought against Death, against the gods themselves, and he won. He swam through the ocean even as his limbs grew tired and the wax threatened to consume him, just to return to you.
Ash Lynx does not belong to you, but here he is, with Death’s kiss pressed to his side, saying that he doesn’t mind belonging to someone if that someone is you.
You do not need him to belong to you, you’d be fine with just belonging to him. But he wants to belong to you, and so he will. There is not much you wouldn’t do for this boy, and if belonging to you makes him happy, then he’ll belong to you forever.
You offered him your soul once, and now he’s offering the same.
And once again, you’re flying.
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I fall, you catch me
Shining with heavenly glow
I kiss you, I fly
How wonderful you are, dear
Let me have you as you are
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They say that the end of a story is simply the beginning of a new one. Today, this story ends with you. The next one? That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourself.
So fly, little bluebird, and let the gods have mercy on you so that you’ll never fall again.
And if you do? Well, your lynx will always be there to catch you.