These memories ride on the wings of birds; they *are* birds, colourful flashes in the sky. Tatters and fragments that form a larger whole.
//"If you look at them, you might be able to see something in them. Patterns, or new colours. Something more than that.
I have trouble expressing myself, sometimes. So I put those things, those memories of you, into a different form."//
[[Birds sweep across the endless blue. As a bird yourself, it's not hard to follow them, to fall into those flocks.->1]]
The sky changes as the flock migrates; the world turns. Night falls over everything, and starlight dances on countless flapping wings.
[[Fly upwards. Leave the flock and soar among the stars.->2]]
[[Break formation. Chase the distant trails of an aurora.->3]]
[[Spread your wings. Dance among the clouds.->4]]
You beat your wings and fly up into the stars, unrestrained by atmosphere or gravity. Such things simply don't exist here. Solar winds replace simple air currents, lifting you higher.
In the patterns of constellations, a memory makes itself clear to your eyes.
//The stars spread out before you, a celestial map. In their hearts, in the light they produce, they hold the concept of motion and life.
Maybe it's strange to see what you've made thriving in the cores of stars, sketchy lines made of starlight pushing forward, breaking free as new lights in the sky.
But these are cherished pieces, precious memories. There is a sense of fierce happiness from the person this memory belongs to, and a deep contentment.
"I always look forward to what you create, you know," says a voice far away, drifting on the wind. "I don't know if I've told you that. I can't remember. So I'll say it to you again."
"What you make is always full of life. Like it's ready to be born, if there was a means to make it so...
It's good."//
[[Let the currents guide you back, into the flock.->1]]
Curtains of light drift in the night sky; they are every colour you could possibly imagine. As you soar through them, they're cool to the touch; they feel like a breath of fresh air flowing over you, a wind that's only just been born.
In a cradle made of light, a memory spreads its wings. It flies above, trailing its contents as it lights the night before you.
//This memory is of a place you've never been. It might be odd to see yourself walking among stars, an elegant and delicate network of connections and bridges; filled with decorations rose-gold and shimmering, it glows with an inner light.
Here, everything is moving. Here, everything thrives. In your presence, there are sparks and pulses of life, following you; pulling themselves free from the hearts of stars. A feeling of perpetual motion.
You yourself move from place to place, slowly; taking your time, stopping to rest. But things move, anyway, attending you; light surrounds you. You create it, ambiently, by existing.
The person whose memory this is watches with contentment, a certain kind of awe.
"I know you have your own problems, and you don't like yourself, a lot of the time," says a voice distant as the stars in the sky.
"//I// like you, though. I like you very much. I've probably said it before, but it's worth saying again.
You're worth a lot to me."//
[[The flock sweeps you up again, flying through the lights, just like you.->1]]
The clouds part easily for you; the sky is your domain. They whip around you; the wind you leave in your wake creates transient patterns in their formation.
In the contrails you leave behind, a memory forms, a picture made by clouds. Shining in the light of faraway stars.
//These memories within memories are constellations, bright bursts of light connected to each other by what they have in common.
They are brief glimpses of you, warm and bright. Precious to the person who holds them. There is a sense of gratitude that pervades.
"I feel better when we're together. I don't know if I've said how much your company means to me, so I'll say it now," murmurs the echo of a faraway voice.
"I'm not that good at conveying my feelings. Not really. But it's nice. Spending time with you. It feels...right, I think.
I don't think it's exaggerating to say that you feel like family to me, but...
I hope I'm not overstepping."//
[[This memory is fragile, easily blown away like the clouds it originates from. Easy to disperse, whenever you want.->1]]