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The sky is filled with static at the moment, so I don't think this will hurt. If you're listening, somehow, dreamers, know that you can wake up.
If no one is listening, it should be alright for me to speak.
Let me speak of light, washing over the universe like waves. It is a distant thing, far enough away that I need only sit back to watch a moment that passed long ago. Its clandestine nostalgia settles over the scene like a sunrise, painting the scene in saturated hues and all the impossible colors beyond.
I cannot call it a kiss. It is not a thing of soft flesh and humming blood… but the spark is there. If we had been human, we would have called it a kiss.
Against the endless black of the sky, his antlers are a shock of lightning and the taste of ozone. Bearing witness, my eyes burn like one hundred suns (they still do).
My eyes always burn to look at him. How can they not, when I know how dark the sky is without him? How can I not burn to know how cold it is to be without him? I cannot fear the heat death of the universe when I already know how that feels.
I apologise, dreamers, if you are still listening. I don't… I don't know how to make it make sense. I do not know how to speak of love without confessing to loss.