Don't you like the early AMs? Those times you could tiptoe out of your bedroom to just sit on the ground of your backyard, where the grass was probably wet, not from the rain, but from how cold the night was, that it felt damped against your pajamas as the coldness soaked into your skin? The moments where you could see the stars being awake, having conversations as the others were sleeping, blinking as they talked, exchanging 'hello' in almost inaudible whispers? I do.
Sometimes, when I do, I feel like I got soaked into their various luminescence, it was as if they 'caught me up in a swirl', as he said. But it wasn't the kind that gives you a headache, no. It was bedazzling, if anything, enchanting even. It felt like a risky, reckless flight to Neverland, and the stars were the fairy dusts, keeping you afloat with their twinkling chattering, and I was one of the Lost Boys, found.
In most of the trips, everything was so foreign, yet it got me familiarized so quickly. It was like encountering strange things in the woods people left for others to find, that reminded me of the personal items I scattered too once upon another time; memories, feelings, like a bunch of surprise souvenirs in a box, addressed to whoever is lucky, or poor enough to stumble upon and open.
My favorite conversation to hear though, was between the sun and that one particular planet; the one that looked like a tiny dot of white from where I usually lay down, despite him being the second biggest in the system. He is a planet so far the sun had to stretch her flares so much to make sure he gets to feel the warmth, so far that squinting his eyes wasn't enough to see just a glimpse of her shimmer.
They mostly talk about their lives, sometimes it's about how lonely she felt, even in such a crowded place in the center of the universe, other times it's about how distant and distinct he felt, probably because of the rings surrounding him, which he may or may not be aware of them being one of the most beautiful things ever.
There were times, when in between those small talks, he'd wish her to be much closer, and each time he does, she'd blush, and the sky reflects it during the late AMs, like a painting, a perfect combination of her favorite colors; orange and yellow, before they had to part again, which might explain the color blue throughout the day.
The early PMs are not always good. Sometimes it's just cloudy, other times the sky's just gray and dull. But maybe he said something before their next talk, because hours ago, she blushed again, this time it was a wonderful gradation of pink and purple, it was as if she couldn't wait for the stars to be awake, having conversations as the others were sleeping, blinking as they talked, exchanging 'hello' in almost inaudible whispers.
I hope it's not going to be too cold tonight.
