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Updated: Mar 29


Yesterday, I was a little speck under a leaf and you were another, there beside me asking: “What colour is the starlight?” And I laughed and said, blue or red. Then I told you about twin-stars and how from earth, they look like a single star that flickers blue, then red. Yet, we could not see these stars and so I could not show you.


Tonight, I am a warning light, perched a-top a tower, and you are another, here beside me asking “Where are these twin-stars?” I look up and twist my head round, dimming my own. “There, it’s blue,” I say. “It’s red,” you say. Blue, then red, blue, then red. “Two stars?” you ask. “Two stars. Two, near each other.” We then dim our lights to see a little brighter – blue, then red.

On the morrow, we shall look down on leaves with specks and little warning lights. We shall wonder about the little things of the universe as we flicker: blue, then red.


And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.


July 26, 2010

...

Ours was the little play, that little back and forth of are-we-or-are-we-not-or-does-it-even-matter? It crept up on me slowly, that indeed, you had gotten under my skin, and I was already carrying you around in that fifth chamber of my heart before I knew it. And it was true for you too, though it took a bit of time before we told each other.


We were both heartbroken, you and I, nursing our wounds with pretty words on pages and a lack of sobriety. We did not expect that these -- words, paper, fire, and inebriation -- would weave a spell around us until we were there. Maybe we did not see it, because neither of us had it, no place of comfort and nurture. All we had were our little caves where we hid ourselves from the world. But we built it, slowly, did we not? Led by the spell, led by the children within us, playing with block after block, ‘til the walls were built and the roof was raised, and there it was. In the space between our arms, filled with our breath; in the space between our eyes, filled with our gazes; in the spaces between us, same as the spaces between the stars, and the space between atoms -- there was home and love.


It was years and that was all we had, that space was our home.

Imagine our surprise and the shock in my guts that, when we finally occupied the same space, the same walls and roof surrounded us, the same floor held us, the same bed, the same window, the same lights -- that it did not spell home, not for us. What is home, anyway? We asked ourselves again and again. What are we doing? Why are we here? What do we want? None of these questions are home.


What is home? Did I forget as I built the kitchenette and set up the cabinets? Did I forget as I arranged the books? Did you sweep it away? Did you scrub it from the bathroom tiles? What is home? It was in none of those, none of these, not for us. It broke our hearts and threatened to break us, did it not? And in the days, weeks, months the followed, we kept asking, what is home? Through tears and holding and space and raised voices and card reading and chart mapping, we asked, what is home?


Slowly, I found it again, but not where I thought it would be. Not in the cracks where I had stuffed old letters and old gifts, not in the old nicknames and conversations, not in the old shoes and old clothes, all but forgotten. Slowly, I found it again, as before, led by the spell of words, though perhaps of a different language now, and now not just fire, but air, water, and earth. There was still paper, new little notes, new ideas, scribbled in a way to explain, to chart meaning. And inebriation? Again, a different kind, something more akin to dreaming. There, again, slowly, the roof was raised and the walls were built, and again -- in the spaces between words that learned to be more gentle, the spaces where there was understanding and meeting, and trying, the same spaces actually, between the stars, between atoms -- I found it again, home and love, and you.


March 12, 2020

8bitfiction | Est. 2010 | Be you. Do your best and love well.

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