Your expression is lost as you lean over the edge; pale, sharp, beautiful.
As the silvery moon emerges from a cloud, you close your eyes, and picture the sun. I move to stand alongside you, entranced and drunk with my own fixation, brushing a hair from your jaw, gliding my fingers across the planes of your face.
As you dream of the sun, I dream of a kiss. Your gaze, piercing and dangerous, a siren’s eyes, pull me into reality, and I release you, appalled at myself that I would touch such an ethereal being, though one I had grown to love. You have higher goals, more aspirations than I, and though I adore you, I am no match for you. Your craving for more may not be the biggest problem; you could never be satisfied with anything, not children, not money, not an unfaltering, unending love. You have to keep moving, to find something, anything to satisfy your lust for more and your unquenchable thirst to self-destruct.
As you dream of the sun, I dream of a kiss. You were the child who had his voice taken from him, snatched from your throat by a man who couldn’t love any more than you can now. His dirty, deceitful hands left scars everywhere they touched you, your skin burned and withered in his wake. Your wings were clipped young, before you had a chance to reach for the sun. I wake in the dead of night to the sounds of your weeping, as you gaze down at the beautiful scars he left on critical veins. I spoke with you that morning, and you denied your own weakness.
You had everything taken from you young, and now, you hunt for more, always searching, always hungry, and though your wings were snatched from your back, you still yearn for the touch of the sun, determined to become a fate worse than death. You’re a puzzle none could solve, an enigma to all who cross your path, and though your mind is twisted and lost, I am enamoured with every part of it, even – especially – the madness.
As you dream of your sun, I dream of my kiss.