[ The moonless sky above turns. Like folded paper caught through with a pin, it tips about the concept of words that are not words and words that were not. Your dark hair curls about the points of your ears as the wind surges and silences, electric on the tongue. The figure before you still marches on.
She's quick, but you are too. Your small feet pad across the stone, cool in the desert night. ]
Michael! [ Your voice is so soft, so young. She is so tall next to you, imposing and so Human. She is familiar to you. She is familiar to you and you realize - with the jolt of your heart - that you love her. You love her, but it is not something new. ] Michael, wait! Where are you going?
[ Her form flickers before you. Older, younger. Younger, older. The severe angles of her hair settle into short, tight curls. Back again. The lay of her coat smears between the greys of their home and the blues of a smart, fitted uniform.
She turns on her heel, her dark eyes sharp. Her expression is set with firm determination, but her features are so unlike your own. She lets you move in, closer. Close.
You too are tall and not, the same and yet different. You have seen yourself outside yourself before. She has too. She has too and she looks past you, almost to the left.
You still, but you are no longer you. Or are you?
"You're not supposed to be here," she says. Her rounded ears show beneath the varying stylings of her hair, her hand settling against the strap of her rucksack.
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She's quick, but you are too. Your small feet pad across the stone, cool in the desert night. ]
Michael! [ Your voice is so soft, so young. She is so tall next to you, imposing and so Human. She is familiar to you. She is familiar to you and you realize - with the jolt of your heart - that you love her. You love her, but it is not something new. ] Michael, wait! Where are you going?
[ Her form flickers before you. Older, younger. Younger, older. The severe angles of her hair settle into short, tight curls. Back again. The lay of her coat smears between the greys of their home and the blues of a smart, fitted uniform.
She turns on her heel, her dark eyes sharp. Her expression is set with firm determination, but her features are so unlike your own. She lets you move in, closer. Close.
You too are tall and not, the same and yet different. You have seen yourself outside yourself before. She has too. She has too and she looks past you, almost to the left.
You still, but you are no longer you. Or are you?
"You're not supposed to be here," she says. Her rounded ears show beneath the varying stylings of her hair, her hand settling against the strap of her rucksack.
"Who are you?" ]