I once spent a hundred years sleeping. I dreamed of weatherproof hearts and sirens of untouchable beauty and a kingdom constructed entirely out of gold. Fairies visited me as I slept, prodding me, chirping
"Are you alive?"




"Is it alive?"
until the forest where I slept burned down as a result of a broken life and a tossed cigarette I awoke
because I smelled charred flowers
I watched the fire purge the trees with an unexplained sense of calm, until I saw you flying overhead with rainclouds in your hands and when you wrung them out I realized
I'm a complete fool
And my hair dripped with the rain that tasted like regret-drenched nights and poorly worded apologies but you said the rain, tasted a bit salty
Once the fire was quenched and you had landed on the candy green grass, you draped your coat over my skeleton shoulders and spoke, "My Aurora, we had better get out of here,"
We've been flying ever since
Everytime we fly over a crowded city, I try to imagine the variably infinite lives of the neon specks below and you indulge this, and together you and I create a reality where small business bakers are part time superheroes and businessmen and teachers are green faced villains who,















no worries,



















will be defeated by the end of the story.
I'm growing rather fond of our story-in-progress in the way a teenage boy is fond of his slasher films.
We've flown every every hometown and metropolis twice and counting, pulling threads which we've stolen from the fabric of existence along behind us so that one day we might have a nice quilt the size of the universe to get lost in
Sometimes flames lick at our makeshift wings and I shout for you to Gather some clouds! Save the city!
And as I frantically dust sparks off my feathers, your voice quavers and you tell me "Love,
you were a special occasion. If we want to be free, we must keep moving,"
I've seen the destruction of innumerable civilizations with you by my side, and your eyes have grown softer but not a degree darker and after all these years your laugh is still magic and you still call me your
light and
After eons in the heavens I've never seen one ghost, but at times I hear a whistle singing softly by, and I can feel soil under my nails and the air tastes like perfectly ripe strawberries and
we both cry over a life we never live and we keep flying, and I suppose we'll keep flying until we're struck by lightning because the world knows the sky asks for no exhaustion so
We'll keep soaring hand in hand, and every once in a while you'll pull me tumbling to the Earth so
We can explore places untouched
And you can weave glowing weeds in my hair Baby,
I used to believe I was a dandelion and that each breath-stealing blow to my weak frame would only strengthen my dominion over the pastures of a miserable kingdom but Baby,
With you I've realized we're all goddamned resurrection ferns, and the difference between us and the sirens and the rose nymphs is that we accept the thunderstorms as a much needed shower and
We move too fast for the crimson petals to gather and make us sightly.