he boy sits by the window and stares out at the twilight world beyond. He is not ready to go out there yet. He still has much to adjust to in this new home. It fits him poorly and makes it difficult for him to think.

He can see his reflection in the glass: dark hair, small features, a familiar face. But it does not yet feel like his own. That, too, would come in time. As he stares, he watches the leaves falling past the window, drifting on the wind.

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There is no fear now, even as more leaves fall. That which lies deep inside him fills in the spaces with shadow and shape. Formed out of memory. What comes is still more familiar than his own reflection in the glass. He knows it was the face he once wore.

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He still remembers the darkness, a black sea swimming with lights. He remembers the dying sun in the middle, strangled away so that others might fly and shine. But in that last moment, the boy who had once worn this body had kept a secret from them all. As he left that dark sea to places beyond, he pulled another light out of harm’s way and dropped it into that empty dark sea.

So it might live anew.

Outside now, more leaves tumble, and shadows of memory fill in gaps, forming the true face of the one who wore this body now.

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This old face would be forgotten eventually, but not the boy who gave up his life so something new could be born. Often in his dreams, he sees that boy running over fields, topping a hill, waving back—then gone.

So happy now.

The new boy who sits in the chair stares out the window.

Sometime he will run again, too.