raeinfeather

Maybe she knows it but maybe he knows what it is. It is time and light and space and matter and before them and after them and maybe it created them. She has met it, talked with it in bars and cafes and drive-throughs and living rooms and on the streets. He has made a life with it. He wakes mornings sometimes with it laughing in his head, he walks afternoons with it silvering his steps, he sits evenings on the edges of docks and lets it fill him like the clear blue-green sky. One day they meet each other, walking across the crosswalk and meeting eyes and stopping because their eyes are the same color. She asks him his name and he asks her i