A silver thread

It is night. Around me darkness and silence. From somewhere, from afar, a silent calling that only my soul can recognise. I close my eyes, slowly, and tenderly I try to follow the calling, a silver thread expending over thousands of miles. 

With the thread between my fingers, oceans and continents vanish and finally I can step over my land, the one I left behind following an illusion. I know its song, I know its stories, I know the perfume in the air and my soul trembles in joy. I hear around my language, the one I listened to in the womb, and I smile. There, in the distance are my mountains with white caps of snow in early summer, with fir trees raising like proud arrows towards a sky that is as blue as my dreams, with fast cold springs running over rocks between the flowers. I pass through tiny villages lost on the map and resort towns and finally, as I descend the last mountain, across the fields, I can see the old castle sitting quietly at the top of the hill, a testimony of the history I had left behind. The stones beneath my feet know my story. I take one step after another, between old houses in which ones I had friends, on old streets on which once I sang and laughed. In the tiny little park with weeping willows the old benches remember still a young girl laughing as she was day dreaming about the future. 

I walk further still, passed the centuries old German church, passed a school that once was mine and stands older then the country for which I had left it all behind and finally, finally I take my first step on my street. Each house has lived in my memory, each stone etched in my mind, each tree a guardian to my dreams. And there, just a little lower, the house that when I left was white as snow, a sunny yellow now. I stop by the gate and I lean my head on it. Between tears, I smile at all the memories. The day I had left the house excited on a date with my love, the day I came home with all my friends celebrating the end of high school, the days I went to the market with my mother and for long walked in the forest with my brother… Teasing my sister and listening to my brother…

I lower myself to my knees, there, next to the gate, and I can not stop the tears falling down my face. Why did I leave it all behind? Why?

Once, a long time ago, when I used to fight with my sister about silly belongings, I thought that having my own home, my own space will be a blessing. Once upon a time, listening to my father’s lectures, I dreamed of the day when I will have no one to tell my what to do. Once, when my mother would ask me to sit with her, I thought that being alone will be exciting. Once, when my bother was mercilessly teasing me, I thought that I would give anything for it to stop…

I sit now on the other side of the gate, a stranger in my own home, a stranger in my own country and I cry. Because I would give anything to have my father tell me what to do and lift the mountains of responsibility of my shoulders. Because I would give anything to sit quietly with my mother as we cook together yet another meal. Because I would rather argue with my siblings then being alone at the end of the Earth where no one knows me enough to tease me about things that happened a life time ago. I step into the yard; tears still falling, tears of joy for finally being home, in my parents arms, in my siblings laughter.

The silver thread snaps, just another sweet dream, and I am back again in my own home, in the dark, at the end of the planet. Why did I leave? Why did I leave it all behind with a smile on my lips? Why? All I have left are dreams and memories. And sometimes, late at night, I can close my eyes and imagine going home, and for a moment, just a second, the illusion is powerful enough to settle the yearning, the longing. And then, the dream vanishes like the touch of the feather on the face, and I am left all alone in a country far away and the pain is ten fold worse and the longing is clawing at my soul... Why?