There is a Point Beyond Which Answers Cannot Be Brought Back
She had hidden behind an Ireland calendar July through December, until her arms curved back around her torso and she was there with a Stranger, who slurred.
“Show me something”
“Okay”,she said and she did and he said “wow!” and “could you show me again” and she did and he reached out to squish her nose.
There was an aspect, of luck, of being recess kickball first-picked, explored in the vestigial limbs of Orion. The claw picked up the plush red,blue,yellow animal icon and dropped it into her small hands. She named it something different than what it was and so he never responded.
They looked beyond the light pollution flicker to see one continuing star that looked like the ratio of days to meaningful experiences. Suggesting everything in the opposite direction, they were now far afield from their first years of thick blood and initial pulls.
But he could still go out and send, with air in the balloons, a message, against the slow shill of adulthood. From his stomach grew a dichotomy at “we” and he mistook his trajectory for falling,gravity for the possibility that he had been targeted, drawn back, aimed and shot into her galaxy.
She continued, a pop song that couldn't turn off, a password into the rabbit hole where blackness swelled his rods and cones until he could see the million colors already there.
He chose none other.