The princess’ tears stained our holy ground

Calvin+and+Hobbes+Starry+Night%3A+an+artistic+spin+on+pop+culture.+

Aja Kusick

Calvin and Hobbes Starry Night: an artistic spin on pop culture.

We sat there on the grass. I was there, watching the rain droplets tumble down their cheeks, resembling a jewel in a princess’ crown–it looked like tears, but they weren’t theirs. They were the sky’s, and its emotions painted the grass in an emerald green that can only be captured in dreams. The broken jewels of the princess’ crown were bouncing off their high cheekbones and trailing down the bridge of their aquiline nose. 

The grass is soaked in our past, and for that, the sky wept and poured all of its contents out. Seeds and new roots will be forever stained in the memories created and the emotions spilled; it will be forever stained in the bleeding contents of our souls as we peeled back its layers.

They were platonically connected with weak threads, until they could no longer bear the breaking bonds that were being badgered, bombarded with bricks and by bombs. A handcrafted piece of happiness was now bursting at its seams and withering away in the rain and our hands. My shirt and my shorts, my shoes and my hair, and my mind and my eyes all tell the tale of our imposing grass spot. Now, it’s our infamous grass spot. 

Saturated tears fell in distress, the princess in the sky above us was crying.”

The fragile, silk blanket that wrapped our souls together was being slashed by a prince’s sword and dirtied by his horse. With each violent stab of the sharpened blade and keen kick from the high-powered horse, the blanket deteriorated. The forces unknown were too strong—indestructible for the delicate fabric and the thin threading that was once intact. All good things must come to an end, even if that means we witness the once woven material deteriorate. 

The grass spot connected us. The grass spot initially established our not-so-perfect friendship. The grass spot kept the pink blanket that tied our souls in a knot. Our grass spot saw us grow—saw us change. It’s still up to debate whether it was for the greater good or not. 

Saturated tears fell in distress, the princess in the sky above us was crying. All good things must come to an end.

There we were, under nothing but the dimmed white from the fog covering the crescent. My brown waves were matted together by her tears, and my ripped jeans were more ripped. We said our final goodbyes on–to–the grass spot and parted. We never dare to return. 

All good things must come to an end.