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She arranged with the moon, to situate itself outside her bedroom window at approximately eleven-thirty in the evening. Unsure if she would ask me to join them, she felt no need to inform me it was waiting for us. At around twelve-forty she said, “Let's go." Turning away she gripped my hand, almost as if to say, "I have someone I'd like you to meet."


We entered. She moved like a pianist through her scales to her place in bed and I assumed mine. It was there, as I faced her, with her back to the pulled eggshell curtains that I first noticed the details of this arrangement.


Light traversed the galaxy, radiating from the combinatory combustion of helium, freedom, and delirium. Only to meet a floating orb of dust, death, and pewter. The fortunate few undertook a journey, one of uncertainty and magnitude, cutting through the glowing city lights to land on a smaller surface: a round cheek, a steady eye, and a single dimpling crater. 


So there we were. Her, I, and the Moonlight. Although, I couldn't help but wonder about the others. Those rays which moved without mixture to the farthest reaches of space, forever stretching towards time, cascading ever outwards, yearning for a surface to warm. A touch. 


"What about them?"




She said nothing in return, because I never really asked. 


She answered though, with a smile so expertly shaded. 


R. Thomas

S: Her, I, and: Text
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