|Sreyasi, 12, India|
I gave her my heart, and she flew with it, in the shape of a bird, all the way to far, far, far.
She never once said she’d give it back.
When she arrived there, they didn’t know what to make of my small heart, so far from home. A soft, pulsing thing.
I waited. I waited hundreds of years for her to finish with it, not knowing it was in her nest, beating without me.
The nest was deep and filled not with eggshell but with the things that once mattered to her.
My heart was one of them.
Anica Boulanger-Mashberg, Hobart, Tasmania
Anica is editor of the very beautiful Islet Magazine.