Like a waning moon, love dissolves into its own pale form— not disappearing, but slipping sideways into another.

Dusk does not fall; it unfurls— a slow cosmic spill across the sky…

(As if some ancient hand repaints the universe layer by trembling layer.) 

Night threads itself through dawn like a whispered secret, and the world turns (because it has always turned, because something unseen keeps humming.)

Memory returns in strange geometries— spirals, echoes, fragments of constellations that never existed until the moment they did. 

It arrives more often than not…

More often than it should….

The Aztec sun once chased a star through the void.

Believing the universe would collapse if he did not find her again. 

(Perhaps he was right. Perhaps longing is the dark matter holding us together.) 

The moon appears layered— not veiled, but refracted, as though she has slipped through several realities at once 

She glows with the ache of a thousand forgotten myths, each one a flickering candle. 

A vein hums. 

A memory stirs like a creature waking underwater. 

A heartbeat flickers in and out of existence, as if deciding which universe to belong to. 

Some flames burn without fuel— 

And so, it endures: the night, the longing, the impossible light that refuses to obey rules of time. 

Not eternal— but recurring, like a cosmic glitch, like a star remembering birth

Like love returning from one side of the universe…to the other.

Because it cannot do anything else.

12/24/25

A lover need not be seen to be felt.

-maida isabel