A Reverse Valentine

I think I am finally free of the blood bond with you, but then again, I think that may be self delusion. It felt painful to cut it, with that rusty laboratory knife, but then again, i can see why it had to be done. I hated you for the first incision. I did not want to sever my ties with your, my twin, my blood demon. I wanted you with me forever. It hurt. Finally, there was something missing every moment of every day. A purpose for doing things, it was gone. It was as if a light was extinguished and suddenly, i could see an empty world that had been so invisible for so long. Space harpy, you know so much about me. I am nothing but stronger now, and you are feathered with such colorful ribbons that did not exist before. Somewhere, I hear, there are sea slugs infected with photosynthetic algae, orchids that grow on corpses, and flesh that lives under the skin that casts off its former obligations with the matter that gave rise to it. I hear there are galaxies that cannibalize each other. This is lovely, but in the end, each system must procreate on its kind and the Darwinian struggle continues. Parasite, host, mutualist, symbiont, slave, lover, tool, companion, zygote, zygote, zygote, zygote.

to athena

i can stare into your grey eyes all day long, athena, and see storms pass, and sun too. things are not what you think they are, and in every significant way, they are better. it is no contradiction that you are beautiful and funny simultaneously, that your stories get better as you grow old, and that the glass of wine you are drinking now sits astride a million million universes, some of them with similar glasses of wine, some with nothing but echoes. you have lived through so many things, seen so many things, and fought so many battles worth fighting, against adversaries more powerful than yourself, and not been beaten. how many times have you taught Perseus to use the mirror against Medusa, or doomed poor Hector for his folly? like Odin, i have plucked out my good eye, and with it, i can see storms of my own, and sun too. we weather them together, my love, like two planets locked in orbit, storm and moon and sun and tide.

carbon

To say that i am grateful not to be spending this particular year decomposing underground is a tremendous understatement. I am elated, because even the worst of days have air and sunlight, in such wasteful abundance that clouds sing and mist abounds. There is snow cover, and seasonality, and the inevitability of spring, and whatever happens, it will not come again. None of it. I wish i could spend a day seeing through your eyes, love, be you four or twenty four or forty four. I would like to experience your joys and feel your frustrations. We are so alone in our minds, each of us, and yet we send out tendrils of experience through stories. If we are lucky, our stories will last a little longer than we do, and fade only after the passing of centuries. The moments fall like leaves, and the stories get more numerous. Lakes melt. Seasons change. Carbon cycles.