Infinite is the sky. And as much as your mind would try to reach its furthest depths, your consciousness deters you.

Even now, as we spew more photons into the abyss, they grow lonelier and further apart. And they'll continue indefinitely. As any force of independence is destined never to fall out of being.

but these photons between us. The ones that hit our retinas and warm the pores in our faces and bathe in our subconsciousness. These will never be lonely. And I hope that the infinite sky of night never steals these memories. They belong to you. Not as baggage, but as sustenance.

When the sun hits your eyelashes. I know. When snowflakes become lodged in the ravines of your hair. I can see it. When your eyes sink and then swim up to meet me. my eyes rush out to meet them.

You've become the upbeats that all my downbeats were yearning for. And our adventures, the syncopation. We are a cadenza for this city to smile upon in subway cars and on sidewalks and street corners. Something that the jealous cynics that we once were could never understand until we saw ourselves in each other.

 And now, it comes down to these moments before us. This mere second that holds our lips apart will soon be over. And each one after comes as a drop of the Aeternam.

 Just promise to hold onto me in this rush, and i promise i'll still be holding on to you when we die.

The candles were humming; no one was watching. There were lonesome cries at an empty table while miles of wind and road separated all of us.

But all was right in the world.

Those forgotten memories of home were frozen snowflakes of time tumbling through November's wind. Your tears are truer than our words would have been had I come to find you amid the ash of this house.

Somewhere close, someone speaks your name. And it's slow, and it's warm. And once you find it, you'll be happy again. That's all I ever wanted.

Nostalgic feelings of our childhood engulfed us as we stood by the edge of what seemed like a view from the heavens. The warmth of the sun against our skin, the cool breeze of the wind past our face, we were free from the shackles of society which had bound us so tightly to the ground.

Aided by the light shining down and casting shadows against the uneven rocks scattered beneath our feet, we made our way to the top. With lucid feelings lying somewhere between a dream and reality, we felt for the first time, limitless.

I remember seeing the world through the eyes of a child, with fascination and awe, anything was possible. Standing immersed in what seemed like the stratosphere near the summit, I tried to recapture that sense of imagination I had lost so long ago. As we looked down at the colors and shapes that form the landscape of our beautiful world, unscathed, we let go without bounds...

Back then, we would count our days together: Seven, Thirty, Three-Hundred and Sixty-Five. And Before we could stop to think, we had become the safe parts of each others' minds that slow down our growing up. You and I. we were Us.

But then you grew out of me, and into the city. And I could feel it in the shortness of your breaths and the quickness of your eyes. How your veins were flooded with carbon, and your skin shrouded with whatever heat it could gather. You were becoming more of a line than a point, a blurred stream of your routines spread thin across the minutes. You were racing to become all of yourself in an impossible time.

I remember missing you in those pendulum swings. You were unfathomably quick, I'll commend you for that. Quicker than life. Quicker than me.  But then one day, you stopped ticking and my world stopped moving. And then the doctors started counting down: One-Sixty, One-Twenty, Eighty, Fifty, Thirty, Twenty, Ten. And so I simply stopped feeling. And that's how these things came to pass.

So then we found it in our guts. The hope we'd been looking for was within us, it was just strewn about the crevasses and hidden in parts. Nothing that was thought of was ever whole. Like electrons, time moves in a synchronous wave until we observe it as the uncertain particles that frustrate our black and white minds. Did that memory happen? Or is it some borrowed illusion from a universe that used to be this one?

To give certainty to anything is easy. But sheds no light on truth. For all that is imagined, lives. And, one day, will no longer.

Leafing through it all, I realized that we had always been destined for what was to happen. As the vastness of this earth is for the rain that deposits in its cracks. As the silence would fall into its own grasp, should the nuances allow it.

In fact, I'm not so sure the lines we drew and crossed again and again were good for anything. Rather, they distracted us from the concrete wall behind, as if it were the bull that would kill us, not the alley we were trapped in. So instead, we cornered ourselves and waited for our thread of prayers to pull our spirits up to heaven.