Cry no longer, formless echo.

It feels like summer camp all over again. The stars were always my favorite part. They blur into streaks as tears start to fall because its finally done and I can’t care anymore. I make a wish on each one. And as if they listen, they fade. Then the morning comes.

The camp that was a mile away, down by the river, finds me in the morning. They pick apart my strange clothing, the bright pink polyester clashing horribly with the cracked indigo of my fingertips. A fallen star, they mumble among themselves, or an angel. One that burns when the dawn shines too bright. I won’t correct them, but I wonder how they know the burden my wings were. A child steps up and lays a bundle of crushed wildflowers in my hand. Such kindness, and yet I never would have found it elsewhere. They step back, have a moment of silence.

And I am at peace. The echo of car horns and junk car advertisements fades into the sky. It twirls them around, confused, but lets them go. It has no use for them now. It has not been oversaturated as I have, chemicals leaking into the soft earth under me. This world is pure, chaos and kindness eternal. And though my breath is held, the world does me one last kindness: it continues without me.