One November night you held my hand and walked me out to the water’s edge. I looked down into the waves, but saw only myself, so I jumped into the night. The rushing wind escorted me, singing only of her pain as she pleaded against the ticking deadlines of commitment and arcane custom. The air began to quake as our shattering bones split apart with a chorus of flame ripping from my tongue, only to be doused again by that melodic pain, as time swirled, flipped, and stopped. I saw the ground beneath the sea: a rhapsodic empty plane. Nightmares rose as dreams bowed down to summer’s bitter chant the dim light of hope stands lost against our shadows waltzing in the darkness. The wind, she took me toward the waves, whispering against my lips of the shards of a fragmented life, of misspoken words, of weeping time, and of engulfing winter rain. Time let us free, and down we dropped, intertwined in a thorny embrace She looked at me, as I stared at her, and with her hand upon my face we fell again, that final night, with ice on our eyelids and fire in our hearts, stuck in the cavern between sleep and delusion and haunted by echoes of yesterday. As I fell, the waves were suddenly aglow with stars from the palace above. My vision blurred, As with the muted wind I dropped one final time. So, one last look, one single star shining in the dark. One last wish on an evening star: Dear daylight, please won’t you take me back.
