There were a lot of pretty things going on in the world when they met. And somehow their meeting made everything even more shiny, at least for a while. They were like human gods. I wanted to touch them, at least be in their radiance, which is I guess how it's always been with the extraordinary. He was
a star ship captain and she…well, she just knew things, things we are often not to know, and how strong she was to bear the weight of the knowledge of our souls! She was skygnn. And we were awed, and we were also afraid.
In most ways they looked normal but we all suspected that if we could find a way into their dimension we'd get a glimpse of how they truly were. We imagined them clothed in something ridiculously rococo, something Louis Quatorze with plumes and gemstones and heavy satin corsets. More likely, though, they wore almost nothing, or simple robes, or he a suit made of spun platinum, she draped in gauzed iridium. Their eyes would shine, for sure. Blue and gold, blue and gold. His so gold his own earth mother looked away and cried his first days in her arms. How they'd glow in that other universe! And hers like the ocean she was always trying to return to. Sun and sea, sun and sea. How could we even witness it!
But we tried to tear at them in our envy, didn’t we? Find a lovely thing, touch it, marvel, admire, be inspired by it and feel wounded somehow that it can never be yours to keep. Judge it. Find the slightest loose edge or seam and run along it with your finger, and think I knew it! then with an invisible smirk test your fingernail in there, up under the imperfection, just the very edge because it's smaller than you think, and feel a little frustrated, then let your feelings turn to the very borders of hate. Isn’t everything made to be ruined, isn't everything imperfect? you ask some jealous god. Pull your nail out, there's a scar now where it was. You made the damage you'd hoped to find. Rub it with your thumb, try to smooth it out. It will never be what it used to be again. You had to find the weak spot and take advantage. Put it back on the shelf. Satisfied with what you’ve done. Sick with it.
That’s how we loved them. We tested them in every way to find their weak spots. We moved in on them and poked, then ran. We dropped a word or phrase meant to make them doubt their own beauty, but they just played along, I’d swear they tried to play along. We called them smug and they tried to epitomize smug for us, to make us laugh. At least that's how it seemed, though it only made them look lovelier. We called them drunks so they drank more with us, drank with us until we were hobbling, slobbering fools admitting our devotion to them in a dark bar at five a.m. At least that's what we were told by the more sober onlookers during our disgraceful hungover days after. They were never as ruined as we were, and never reminded us what they had witnessed, but seemed more compassionate towards us than ever. How that compassion hurt! They were unstoppable alone, and when they met our world was never the same again.
© Maria Alva Roff 2011
a star ship captain and she…well, she just knew things, things we are often not to know, and how strong she was to bear the weight of the knowledge of our souls! She was skygnn. And we were awed, and we were also afraid.
In most ways they looked normal but we all suspected that if we could find a way into their dimension we'd get a glimpse of how they truly were. We imagined them clothed in something ridiculously rococo, something Louis Quatorze with plumes and gemstones and heavy satin corsets. More likely, though, they wore almost nothing, or simple robes, or he a suit made of spun platinum, she draped in gauzed iridium. Their eyes would shine, for sure. Blue and gold, blue and gold. His so gold his own earth mother looked away and cried his first days in her arms. How they'd glow in that other universe! And hers like the ocean she was always trying to return to. Sun and sea, sun and sea. How could we even witness it!
But we tried to tear at them in our envy, didn’t we? Find a lovely thing, touch it, marvel, admire, be inspired by it and feel wounded somehow that it can never be yours to keep. Judge it. Find the slightest loose edge or seam and run along it with your finger, and think I knew it! then with an invisible smirk test your fingernail in there, up under the imperfection, just the very edge because it's smaller than you think, and feel a little frustrated, then let your feelings turn to the very borders of hate. Isn’t everything made to be ruined, isn't everything imperfect? you ask some jealous god. Pull your nail out, there's a scar now where it was. You made the damage you'd hoped to find. Rub it with your thumb, try to smooth it out. It will never be what it used to be again. You had to find the weak spot and take advantage. Put it back on the shelf. Satisfied with what you’ve done. Sick with it.
That’s how we loved them. We tested them in every way to find their weak spots. We moved in on them and poked, then ran. We dropped a word or phrase meant to make them doubt their own beauty, but they just played along, I’d swear they tried to play along. We called them smug and they tried to epitomize smug for us, to make us laugh. At least that's how it seemed, though it only made them look lovelier. We called them drunks so they drank more with us, drank with us until we were hobbling, slobbering fools admitting our devotion to them in a dark bar at five a.m. At least that's what we were told by the more sober onlookers during our disgraceful hungover days after. They were never as ruined as we were, and never reminded us what they had witnessed, but seemed more compassionate towards us than ever. How that compassion hurt! They were unstoppable alone, and when they met our world was never the same again.
© Maria Alva Roff 2011
