For years, I’ve struggled with my words.
Sometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night, and the white edges of fire and brimstone assault my vision with living nightmares of distant places and threats … she will reach for me, hold me close, and not let go until I have fallen asleep again.
Other times. I will reach for her. And in our sleepy haze, she still recognizes my touch, and my need, and responds by clasping my hands and shifting closer.
She is my night sky.
I am her moon.
She envelopes me, and protects me from the flames.
