Sample of work by Ally Stoyel
I don’t think we wander the plains of the universe searching for the other half who is destined to find us and no one else. I think in all the horror of this world, sometimes we meet someone and it could happen instantly or it might take half of our lives to see it. But just sometimes, they open themselves up to us, allowing us to read them like our favourite story. They whisper to us secrets, things meant for a lucky few who walk the same path at certain points in our lives. Sometimes we might find solace in their obscurities, their faults. We are comforted that they are just as strange as we are. Kindred.
These are the people who stay with us. Some may walk away from you, on a journey to find others with different things to offer them. But they will always take a part of you and hold it close. Either by choice, or because you impart it on them before they can even realise that one day, they will look for it and find it in themselves. It could be the smallest thing that made them smile, or it could be so great that it changed their life or the way look at the world forever.
Others you will leave behind, seeking your own truths, or sometimes because you have nothing left to give. You might find more of them, or maybe never again. But these are the people who, when you’re alone, sitting in the dark, lost in a reverie of days gone by or a prophetic future, will enter your mind like a shooting star, fleeting. You will remember them either fondly or with sorrow, and you will long for them. You probably won’t even know why, but they will be as special to you in that moment as you believe anyone ever could be. Then they’ll be gone again. Until the next time you need to fill your silence with the ghosts that time has stolen from you.
But this is just what I think. You haven’t stolen my heart, I’m offering it to you. Willingly, thoughtfully and not at all lightly. I can’t know what you will do with it. You could treasure it like the most valuable gift in the entire world, keeping it with you always. Or you could throw it away like a crumpled piece of paper, forgetting the gravity in which I gave it to you. I have mused all of this one thousand times and yet still, I am willing to love you, hoping that you will never be one of my ghosts.