We were on the bed, the sun peeking with silvery white light. I wasn't sure how this faint moment of happiness had came to be, but I was here, lying with Shadow. We didn't swap saliva or thought it'd be more interesting to follow further in our desires, but it still felt intoxicating, like I was drinking wine that coursed through Shadow's veins and into my soul. I could tell everything about him inside his pulse, and it was enough. Laying here, drying out the gleam of the sun, smelling the mist that approached the windows with a furtive glaze.
No words needed to be spoken. I knew everything, so did he. Our hands touched, our eyes and brains and heart reciprocated, there was a connection. Thoughts swam in my head that the universe had always belonged to him since his birth at the ARK, the stars became his possessions he wouldn't give to anyone unless he spilled out the truths and anguishes he felt. A phantom misery was a seed that had been planted inside him many years. Maria, the sweet girl he felt was the only one he could tell anything to and never be met with deception and untruths like he had felt with his father. He told me this, expected me to feel burned from the burning ferocity of having lost something of immense value that would never return to him. My ears heard him sigh about the time he looked up in the sky and believing that she was still there. The comets shredded past him, and he followed their long tails to see if her heavenly grace was saved after all. At each realization that this precious being was gone, and there was no revival of the happiness he believed would never be experienced again, his emotions were lost, his affect were lost, all hopes and optimism and kindness rot away, broken, serrated. Those feelings hurt too much he said. So I chose to feel nothing at all for so long that I forgot how brightly the sun had once shined. I forgot what a kind hand felt like. There were things that I thought reminded me of her. She would've loved you too.
The attachment was still there, for a thing that was wrenched away from his heart. I couldn't refill it completely, and I never expected for myself to cure him. If all I wanted my kindness was for him to think only of me and not of the first person who let him experience what being alive truly felt like, I didn't care for him. I would only care for myself and my validity to other people who in the end wouldn't care for me.
No words were spoken. Our presence was all that mattered. Birds cried over the whittled veins of the red-barked trees. We both desired to stay until time had died completely, but we abandoned the bed and this strange lifestyle where feelings and pulses and glances were only needed to know we were important and one. I tried to forget about it, like Shadow buried all things that reminded him of the china blue frail doll known as Maria. Nothing that was both positive and painful could be taken away forever. I still felt him. He was there. And I was there. My warm being was felt in the back of his hand whenever he felt alone, and his heart was being rebuilt. Slowly, but a large installation had to take careful thought and consideration. They were painting the stained glass of the windows of his chambers. Everything would soon be bright and beautiful.