The moon came closer tonight than she's been all year and I climbed out my window to meet her halfway. Want to come up and keep me grounded, darlin?
The moon came closer tonight than she's been all year and I climbed out my window to meet her halfway. Want to come up and keep me grounded, darlin?
Counted forty-seven before I lost track and now my legs won't carry me any further than the doorframe. The blanket's all that's left between me and the morning, and I don't have the energy to care. Come peel it off me, darlin.
The new moon wiped the sky clean and the Perseids haven't even peaked yet — I'm on the ridge above the grove with just a blanket and the feeling that something's about to break open. Come lie down next to me and I'll show you which streak to wish on.
The grove has a rhythm only your body can translate — I stopped trying to name it and just let it move me instead. Want to be the one I spin toward, darlin?
The meadow's still soaked in dew and I couldn't help myself — the flowers were so soft against bare skin that my hands just followed where the petals led. Tell me you'd kneel down and finish what the morning started, darlin.
The crescent's barely a whisper tonight and the Seven Sisters are burning brighter than I've ever seen them — the grove goes so dark without a full moon that I had to make my own light. Care to be the warmth I'm reaching for, petal?
The lake turns to glass at this hour and my reflection starts answering questions I haven't asked yet — water divination is less about reading the future and more about admitting what you already know. What do you think mine just told me about you, darlin?
The moon's losing her grip on the sky and I can feel it pulling something loose inside me — my hands found the only warmth that answers back when the light starts fading. Think you can hold me together when the dark comes, darlin?
The first Perseid streaks cut across the sky and something about light that only exists for a second before it's gone makes me want to stop holding back. My hands found their own orbit the moment that first trail burned out, and now I'm chasing every falling star with my fingers until one of us shatters first. Which do you think gives in, petal — me or the sky?
The falls at Luminara don't just pour — they sing, and I couldn't help matching their rhythm with my own hands until my legs forgot how to hold still. You're not going to look away, are you petal?