I first saw you in an unflattering hospital gown.

You were leaning dangerously out the window, the first of the sun’s rays illuminating the antiseptic air.

With an almost urgent speed, I pulled you back into the safety of the white vinyl floor.

Tangled on the floor in the silence, your gaze calmer than any general yet more passionate than the greatest artists.

In the halls of bustling nurses, time slowed for the first time—a breath.

Impossible to read, even as I was staring right at you. An intricate puzzle with thousands of missing pieces.

It was something, someone I’ve never felt before.

“Hey, you—” A nurse pulled you away, but I didn’t want to let you go. Not yet.

I watched you leaving and wondered when I would see you again.

It wasn’t that hard. I even came with a basket of fruit. I heard this was the ‘tradition’ for visiting guests nowadays.

You didn’t seem too surprised when I walked in. I wondered why. People tend to be cautious of strangers. Don’t they?

I set down the basket on the table next to your IV poles and sat down. I didn’t know what to say, so we sat in silence for a long time. I was content on the thin line between awkward and comfortable.

“Penguins give rocks as romantic presents.” Your first words this time.

I searched in my pocket. A rose, a ring, and a couple pieces of candy. No rocks.

“Do you want to go search?”

Not one second later, you ripped out the needles from your arms with a nod as I latched open the window and jumped outside into the mountain-lined night.

Your hand felt like the arctic in mine, the moon smiling down at us and promising eternity in the skies.

We picked out plenty of rocks, ridding ourselves of the normal looking ones.

So cold and so free was the night, both our socks covered in dirt. Your smile blinding as the stars.

Loving you was strange. Nothing I’ve ever dreamed of. Like Shakespearean tragedy, but instead of an abrupt demise, it was like sinking into a deep pool of mud.

And I would gladly let myself fold into the wormy embrace.

Even when I handed you a slimy rock. When I fed you rabbit-shaped melons, because that was far more impressive than apples. When I watched the stars fall across the sky with a full and happy moon as their friend.

When I held your hand, paler than I would ever hope.

“Live.”

So I lived. 

For another hundred centuries. And wondered if I would see you again.

I sit by the mountains as the sun weaves the last of its yarn into the clouds, yet no friendly light comes from its reflection.

I feel myself falling. Not that I do anything about it.

A rude hand catches my wrist, barely pulling me up.

“Idiot.”

My offense turns into shock as you shove a barrage of rocks into my hands.