Donovan Shortey
Donovan Shortey

I think they must have molded you out of stardust, out of luminescent grains of heavenly sand. Then they must have made me out of space, of the velvet nothingness that binds the universe together.

This must be how it is that my tendrils of shadow slip between the sparkling gems of you, enfolding each precious granule in my gentle dark and filtering between, binding the immense beauty and rapturous joy of you in the many arms of my soul so your thousands of particles of potential and grace and hope and warm, warm light don’t fly apart. You are starlight beaming out, streaming between the vines of my soul into the heavens.

If you ever exploded you would be a supernova or whatever is larger and brighter still. Your passion would force the universe outward into an expansion it is not yet elastic enough to sustain. But my shadow is strong enough, darling. So I’ll hold each trembling shard of dragon-fired glass, each shimmering speck of your kindness, tenderness, anger, loss, wonder, and guilt.

I have always pulled things toward me. People, dreams, opportunity, danger. If I ever imploded I would be a black hole, my gravity beyond my own comprehension, sucking galaxies into my orbit. But you hold the veins of me, the dark rivers of my love and compassion, my aggression and empathy, my ferocity and my nurturing, my courage and my terror. I am held fast between the pilot lights of you, the iridescent agate stones of your inconceivably generous spirit. I am safe. And the skies are safe from me.

Matter and antimatter, air and flame, brilliant warm light and embracing cool dark, they made us so that we could intertwine. So that we would intertwine. The pull of moonbeams made me to flower for you, an onyx lily on your wings, and the flash of comets called you into being so that you could bloom for me, a crystal rose whose petals open safe in the chamber of my deepest heart.

They made us to know kisses that flow like river water and sing like forest fire. To consume one another again and again, to burst into being as a constellation of incandescent power, of transcendent love.

We were meant to speak into the nighttimes of lost souls with no words, cut from the celestial fabric of angels to sing to the silence: “Love is real. God is here.” Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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