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“Are you all right?” he asks, composing himself, as though he wasn’t just turned into a living tumbleweed.
Starlight is good to him, outlining him in glowing white.
Sorrow rises from the soles of his feet.
I stand in it next to him, as though we are adrift in an ocean of his making.
The world parts for Ruvan, as if he’s the one standing still, and the rest of us are moving around him, pulled by his undeniable power.
The visual.
From the beginning we existed with crossing the boundaries the world placed on us, but honoring our own.
