What cosmic Rube Goldberg device was it that put us in our places? I don’t know how she ended up there. I don’t know what happened. I only know there’s a story.
We are not in charge.
The vast distances between stars. The dark and cold. Is she even there anymore? Is the light I’m seeing hundreds of years old?
She’s far away. She’s closer than my own skin. Quantum entanglement: in her heart, in my heart, a crush of atoms singing the same song.
In my dreams I’m hiding from her: behind a door, behind a snowbank. In my dreams I fall asleep with my head on her feet, like a dog.
From across the sky, I kick at her mask until it falls off and I see her face. It’s not so different from mine.
“You belong to me,” she says. Is that true? What does it even mean to belong? Either way I love that she’s there, winking at me in the dark.