swooning





the sky is like a long, unevenly sliced sheet of velvet, with long imaginary lines slipping down the sides-- invisible and wanting to hold the stars up like puppet strings. A deep, heavy shade of purple, hung out like a blanket to dry, and the stars nestle beneath it like children, giddy in the innocence of their own affairs. Pressed up against the purple, like pin-pricks in the vastness; eye flirting. Making shapes, connecting dots, dancing, swooning.

welcome to the serenade.

the crickets voices become a living sea that rises and falls with the ebb of dusk and dawn, and swallows us whole. But I can still hear you breathing beside me, quietly. In and out. And somehow I notice that more than everything else.

"it's like..." I trailed, just breathing. "we get so caught up in the science of it.. the little details... and how it works and all it's parts and pieces... and we miss that they're stars."

"mm.."

"like...does it even matter.. if we know everything," I took a deeper breath there, and tucked one hand behind my head. "if we miss the stars.."

If it was cold, I would have seen my breath and perhaps understood it better-- how he could take those thoughts in both of his hands and turn them around in his mind, and how I could feel his thoughts spilling out over his skin and slightly across my own.

"like... it's not even there anymore. when you can't see it."

"mm," I hummed softly, almost dizzy somehow. "i think i would rather just... not know them that well. And be blown away every single time. and be surprised. and overwhelmed."

I've heard it said that professors live in their heads. And in ways they do. I've heard string theorists go off on a tangent in explanation of extra dimensions and the math behind the possibility, and yet somehow, it isn't the long strand of zeros followed by a few digits that most impress me but that the smallest known subatomic particle know to man is singing.

my breath, yours, the pin-pricks wrapped up in the velvet swirls that call themselves sky-- upheld by a song. And a voice that is Love.

I capitalize 'love' because it's a name.

"and somehow," I said, "It's all meaningless... if I only know the numbers...but I can't hear the song."

Stars and whales and the ocean. Phosphorescent bays and trees and mountaintops, all sewn together by a continual inhale and exhale. A song that is eternity itself. Found in all that we have mistakenly identified as ordinary.

science, math, honest trade, making things-- It's anything but ordinary. Creating is resounding the divine within us. Just letting it out-- because it was there all along. Inside every one of us. Our song, our rhythm, our beat sounding more and more in tune with His own. Only it's not just the numbers, or the science behind the stars.

It's the song itself. And the stars too.

It's one thing to talk about lips. It's another thing to be kissed.

Living open, wide eyed, childish and reckless will sometimes feel as if one has left their door unlocked on the street level of a ghetto. There is fear and sweat and sometimes blood involved. But at least you can see the stars.

"am I even making any sense?"

"...no." the words edged through something I knew to be a soft laugh, held back by his lips which were pressed slightly together with amusement as he turned slightly to look at me. "but i know what you mean."


and that's how i feel about string theory.





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6 people commented on this post.

  1. Words are not sufficient for this piece. To say it is beautiful would take something away from what it deserves, but yet the word seems to fit. Beautiful, magnificent, and so wonderfully raw. Bravo.

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    Replies
    1. Aww... your words mean so much to me. Thank you! (:

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  2. this is lovely and so real but so ethereal, too. I love it.

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