Theea
cause every night i lie in bed
the brightest colors fill my head
the brightest colors fill my head
I keep searching, sipping my cider slow. The heat hums in my chest, steady and bright. I spot Deimos and lift a hand with a bright grin, and then I’m moving again—easy steps, no rush. I watch for my parents, too, greedy for every glimpse of them together like a pair of suns finally sharing the same sky.
Lanterns glow everywhere, a quilt of small constellations on the grass. I admire each one and feel… grateful mine isn’t among them. Let the light find someone who needs it tonight.
A soft feline chirp pulls my head around—little sounds that became quickly familiar. There she is: Aria, bright-eyed and barreling toward me. I can’t help the grin that breaks across my face. I crouch, dress brushing the cool grass, and rub my fingers through her thick, soft pelt. When she tumbles, I laugh out loud and scrub her belly. "Hi, trouble," I murmur, warmth flooding me like morning.
Damien must be nearby.
I stand—and my breath hitches because he’s right there, dark eyes arresting mine as he says, a simple, ”Evening." My heart stumbles in surprise. Everything else—the music, the lanterns, the gentle noise of the festival—goes soft around the edges. His voice is warmer than I expected.
I answer with a smile I can feel all the way through, "Evening," matching his quiet tone, the same warm undercurrent threading through it.
He frowns—thoughtful—and the festival rushes back into focus. My grin turns radiant. I catch one of his hands and give it a quick, certain squeeze. The words race out of me, bright and breathless. "I don’t need it. I never needed it."
My heart is pounding; I’m almost bouncing. "My father was alive the whole time, Damien," I say, joy spilling over. "He’s home!"
Lanterns glow everywhere, a quilt of small constellations on the grass. I admire each one and feel… grateful mine isn’t among them. Let the light find someone who needs it tonight.
A soft feline chirp pulls my head around—little sounds that became quickly familiar. There she is: Aria, bright-eyed and barreling toward me. I can’t help the grin that breaks across my face. I crouch, dress brushing the cool grass, and rub my fingers through her thick, soft pelt. When she tumbles, I laugh out loud and scrub her belly. "Hi, trouble," I murmur, warmth flooding me like morning.
I stand—and my breath hitches because he’s right there, dark eyes arresting mine as he says, a simple, ”Evening." My heart stumbles in surprise. Everything else—the music, the lanterns, the gentle noise of the festival—goes soft around the edges. His voice is warmer than I expected.
I answer with a smile I can feel all the way through, "Evening," matching his quiet tone, the same warm undercurrent threading through it.
He frowns—thoughtful—and the festival rushes back into focus. My grin turns radiant. I catch one of his hands and give it a quick, certain squeeze. The words race out of me, bright and breathless. "I don’t need it. I never needed it."
My heart is pounding; I’m almost bouncing. "My father was alive the whole time, Damien," I say, joy spilling over. "He’s home!"
a million dreams are keeping me awake
