DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The cosmos remained, the painted mountains from the tips of his fingers dissolving back into vestiges, the waving grass curling over frames. He watched and waited for them to sprout shields and swords, but they never did. Too tired, too listless, too sunken in, too charred, too wounded, too overwhelmed with every iniquity under the sun. Then his eyes meandered down, down, down to the ground, watching her watching him. “I know.” And he would’ve done it for eternities if she’d let him. He would’ve reached out for her too, been the monolith, the tower, even when it was wavering and toppling, struggling to exist. He always had.
But she’d wanted space, and he’d always given and granted everything. She could come to him if she craved it; otherwise, he'd assume the empty, hollowed, shelled contortions.
His heart collapsed inside his chest, and so did his body, as he laid back down into the grass and felt something trickle down; maybe tears, maybe blood, maybe fire, maybe water, maybe nothing at all. “Is there a right way?” He wasn’t certain. He didn’t know. He’d never done this before.
He waited for his head to sink into the earth and the rest of his body with it, to finally succumb and fall and never come back up from the roots and voids. “We have time.” To come further apart or back together or find a niche, a foothold once more.
Unite and spread the heart apart
