Page 17 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

Slowly, he pushes their fingers together until they slot into the space designed for holding and, staring into dark grey eyes, he lifts his finger to tap once, keeping it raised after.

Without a name, he is just him.

Without a name, he can stand on the edge of this world and see the others. All of them. Colours. Lights. The suns are not only white and gold. The moons are not only milk. The stars have other names. They make different shapes. The trees are not the same. Without a name to tie him down, he is weightless, invisible. He can slip through the bars.

Without a name, he is just the feeling.

The cells.

The man.

Man.

Me.

I.

And there are towers, and there are oceans, and there are families across the spectrum of light, each as different as the last but all connected because everything and everyone is connected because once upon a time, we were all just one cell in the sea.

I.

Me.

So lonely.

Split. Share. Two.

Now there are two, and I am smaller for it, but I do not mind.

To look and see myself in the eyes of someone else.

To not be alone.

To find a stone and show it, share it.

See? See what I have?

Look at this.

Look at me.

Look at you.

Look at the sky.

One cell in the sea.

I would tear myself apart just to make you from the pieces.

Our world is death and love and light and life.

And it’s easy to forget.

It is easy to forget so much of what matters.

I have missed you forever, because once it was you and me, elsewhere.

Elsewhere.