We needed smoke, dream, distance. Our lives had been locked into the worn grooves of an endless, microscopal loop, and the pattern was maddening. So we pushed. We threw ourselves against the ring of centripetal force. Finally something snapped, and flung us violently, four-dimensionally, through the fabric of space, to a floating place in Mayall II, Andromeda. Foreign suns shot their foreign photons at our faces, and we paused in delight at the fresh internal melting. It felt so, so good. A trillion light-years separated us from every calamity (polar ice melt, global hunger, nuclear disaster – all pinned back in that dying galaxy, parasites withering into obsolescence without their hosts). We glowed, burst, reformed. Was I the same being? Was she? The indivisible self withered, meaningless.

We breathed expansively, this time a great inhalation of stellar dust, and traveled quite further, back towards universal beginnings. All was sweet and light, like the smell of clover after a rain. Through the drifting elementals I kissed my partner’s eternal face. She was matter. I was matter. Death was an empty word.

~ by kingzoko on May 14, 2014.

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