"Because of everything. Father, Stig, Kahlo,Touch av lyx, being back here." She sniffles. "I thought this was my chance to finally do something right, but everything is going wrong."
Seeing her like this hurts too deeply in my chest. It makes me forget why I'm here. I pull her into an embrace, holding her tightly. "What can I do?"
Sky just stands there, arms hanging limply by her sides, stiff as a statue. Because I can't think of anything better, I sway her back and forth. Gently, we rock from side to side.
"Dance with me," she murmurs suddenly, so softly that I can barely hear her.
It's a strange request, but if it helps her, I'll fulfill it. My left hand finds her right, and I position my free arm on her back.
How did the waltz go again? On three? Or four? And do I step back first, or forward, or to the side?
As I ponder earnestly, she starts humming with a choked voice and takes a step back with her left foot. Awkwardly, I follow with my right foot.
The fact that I stumble doesn't seem to bother her. Continuing to hum softly to herself, she now steps her other foot backward, and I follow again. We sway to the side, then back to the starting position, and with each passing second, my memory returns.
My steps become smoother, and we merge into one. Although we don't leave our spot, Sky's muscles relax. Her humming becomes more melodious, and the movements of her chest calm.
I interlock my fingers with hers, caress her palm with my thumb, hear her sigh softly, and let myself fall into the moment that feels so real. So pure. And so honest.
For minutes on end, we dance together, merging, breathing in the same rhythm. I join in the melody, feeling the vibrations of my humming deep in my chest, from where it warmly spreads throughout my entire body.
My eyelids droop. Sky's head gently nestles against my chest, and even though I know she can hear my confused heartbeat, it doesn't bother me. I smell the scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her presence, and want nothing more than to let everything else be just fine.
I don't want to wonder if she's pretending or not. I don't want to know who the real Sky is. Maybe because I imagine I already have a hint. Maybe simply because I now feel a cool drop on the tip of my nose, followed by another.
I open my eyes and spot snowflakes dancing with us through the night. Thoughtfully, I tilt my head back and gaze at the sky.
It's the first snowfall of the year, falling heavily upon us. It should hurt inside me, but to my surprise, the recurring pain of the memory of my parents' confession doesn't surface.
Instead, something entirely different happens: It feels beautiful.
"You see, you don't have to reach for the stars," I whisper, pressed close to Sky, and I don't care how cheesy it sounds. "They fall from the sky for you all on their own."
