Commended - Junior Section

Hobart City High School

"If only..." I despise those words. "If only I could hold your hand," "If only I were there for you," "If only I could hold you close and assure you that 'everything will be okay.'" Each syllable is a bitter reminder of what could have been, of the chances that slipped through my fingers like sand.

Time is a net, woven from memories; memories that are yet to be lost, waiting to be captured in its intricate threads. The net, though sturdy, is not without flaws, for it bears holes through which some may slip, and their bodies shall tumble into a solemn heap of bones.

Tick, tock, the relentless clock. Time refuses to halt its march upon the wall, where a lonely clock stands sentinel. Its pulse echoes endlessly, a haunting reminder of the ceaseless flow of moments.

So, we listen, to the constant ticking, contemplating the journey through time's net. As memories collect and slip through the holes, and the mind is caught, we find ourselves enmeshed in this intricate dance of life and time, forever intertwined in the fabric of our existence.

Oh, how I long to turn back the hands of fate, to rewrite the chapters of our intertwined destinies.

***

In the wake of his passing, I found myself drifting through life, caught in the throes of grief until the day the will was read: a single gift left to me, a diary of his life. The world lost its vibrancy, its colours fading to muted hues, and even laughter transformed into hollow echoes, rumbling through the empty chambers of my heart. Memories of our precious moments together flooded my mind as I embarked on the journey, holding the diary close. The world hushed to a gentle whisper as I delved into the diary's pages. Tears streamed anew as the pages unfurled his tale, from the day our eyes first met to the final breath he drew.

I saw us running through fields of wildflowers, where fragrant flowers bloom and soft grass caresses our feet, our laughter ringing out like birdsong. The air is filled with otherworldly tranquillity as if the universe itself has paused to witness our dance. We move together, our spirits interlacing like vines on a trellis, a graceful choreography guided by the rhythm of our hearts. In the twilight yawn rose two tall trees, their tops round as if drawn with mathematical precision, while the sun, a blooming dandelion, stained the sky pink and orange as it slid behind darkening hills. I feel the warmth of his hand in mine, and for a fleeting moment, it's as if he never left. But then reality crashes down, the weight of his absence heavier than ever. In those tender pages, his love bloomed like a rose in spring.

But then, like a bolt of lightning, a painful memory strikes me. The day he went missing—the day that shattered my world. Flashes of blue and red, police cars arriving, searching for him. I've cried every day since the grief consumed me. Oh, how I long to revisit that moment, to look him in the eyes and speak the words I should have uttered long ago: a sincere apology. The sound of two people ignoring each other echoes in the air, a deafening silence that hangs between us. No one is there for the other, and eerie nothingness engulfs our souls. I read his words, how grief became his constant companion, a boomerang that keeps ricocheting back and wounding him anew. Icy fingers wrapped around his heart, squeezing tighter with every beat, leaving him frozen in numbing sorrow.

"If I showed you my teardrops,

Would you collect them like rain,

Store them in jars,

Labelled them "pain",

Would you hold me gently,

As you dry my eyes,

And whisper the words,

'You're too precious to cry',

If I showed you my teardrops,

Would you show me yours?

And learn we're lonely,

we're never alone."

Reading his pain in the diary is tearing me apart, each word an arrow that pierces my heart, making me wish I could go back in time to be there and hold him close, whispering those eight words. Why is it so hard to say?

My heart trembled as I reach the final entry when it said, “I love her”. The air became a battle against a constricting boa coiling tightly around my throat, making every breath a struggle. A herd of elephants has set upon my chest, their heavy footfalls pounding relentlessly, crushing my soul and leaving me gasping for comfort.

Now, here on the beach, I remember moments with him, but the sand slips through my trembling fingers like grains of time slipping away. The sun begins to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and purple. I remember the love we shared and the laughter that filled our days.

As my body hits the ocean's surface with a force I could hardly comprehend, a shockwave of pain surges through me. I feel the sting of saltwater on my skin, my strength waning with each passing moment. Time seems to stretch and warp, a single moment feeling like an eternity. My mind races with memories, regrets, and hopes left unfulfilled. With each passing second, a sense of resignation settles in, as if the ocean itself whispers, "This is where you belong now."

The weight of my sodden clothes pulls me deeper, and with each passing second, I sink further into darkness. If only I could embrace him tightly close, to seize those fleeting moments we let slip away. If only I could whisper words of comfort and assurance. I won’t seek forgiveness, but if I could just go back, I’d change that part about me. As the last breath escapes me, I surrender to the sea of memories, when I’m ready to be united with him.