themidnightcafe☂ and then they woke up and realized the entire century was a template and breeding ground for fakers. they poured out whatever they were drinking. they sat around on roman couches and siberian rugs, rubbing their eyelids, smoking pixie sticks and never feeling the same.

These clouds were all dark and dusty when he arrived, and the wheat only moved so slowly. With one eye squinting against the sun he bowed his head, took his hands, and in mine placed everything he could of yours. Such strong blades of steel and gold were not enough to save you, my love. The sun only rose over the silver glinting down my ear, the jewels you left on those mountain tops,

and the terrible aching of our dear sons heart.

Our city, so fallen without your rule, lays dead as the day you left it. The grass never grew again, and the sun only kept falling. I wore that necklace around my neck every day, and took the mud and blood on your shield and laid it to rest under the last golden day.

With long grass, long grass, and bodies shifting through it finding others. The sun is orange and brown now, and the sky is ash. There are no birds, just wind. and our bodies. Our bodies, so swift and clear under robes of royalty. Walking through these blades of grass, the other side is only there for flickers, while we stand, and wait, and wait, with flags in our hands for the sun to fall, and the moon to rise. These colors have no difference in our city, where both circles light the sky with this glow of damp glory. It is in these hours between day and night, when the sky is dark and bright all at once, that you hold shoulders to your chest, brush hair against your lips, cracked and crisp from sweet wind. It is in these seconds of time, where your hair flies, so quietly across your eyes, and I think, Will you remember us? Will you remember me? You tasted just like sandalwood and olives, crushed under the weight of silk. Made of silk, and bones, and weary eyes you and i will raise our heads over this mighty mighty field of grass. These sunflowers that grow around us, are all damp with the smell of your scent. When your knee’s ran through this field, looking for the middle, you only found loss and memory buried deep within pits beneath the growth of living. Your body was so light in death. Mine turned to dust. We all turned to dust anyway.

And so when he looked through the looking glass from beneath this city, my poor son, he thought this was heaven. And i promised him nothing more.