💜 · to love a lighthouse

To reside in a house set adrift is to cast yourself into the icy embrace of the sea: bound to a vessel constructed by hands which held yours, and is it not such a beautiful thought/to die at those hands all the same?

Emily Wong was one such nautilus—or so she became on the eve of her cosmic ascent: invited to climb the staircase to the stars by a hand she had touched, once before (all too gently). But now she took hold with a fervor that could not be quenched // by merely drinking in the sky from down below. And so, she'd embarked into ether above, beside friends whose hands had made themselves at home in her own. Oh! what a precarious craft was caught up in the kiss of celestial waves—uproarious apathy on cosmic scale! Emily trifled with one god too many; thus the next planet she set foot upon... would be the last place she could stand/unscarred.

Grace Monroe may have boarded a Titanic specter—traveling under the guise of a Train; she too bade farewell to the solace of Earth underfoot; her ship was a golden lure, and she, all too lost for lustre, embarked. As promised, she shone like a star in herself, assuming the semblance of a lighthouse when the [sine] waves deposited her upon a desolate/volatile patch of land. To construct one's castle on the sand is to foster an unstable kitchen table/rattling plates/broken glass on the floor; to alternatively set its base in the toothy foundation of frigid gray rock guarantees sleep fraught with gritted teeth. Nevertheless, Grace had danced on quicksand/conquered many a slick stepping-stone. She assumed herself secure, and set to work guiding other stray ships through the uncertain sea. In this manner, Grace stood—stagnantly—upon the absolute isle, her aura orbiting herself as the moon would the Earth/as the Earth would the Sun. Albeit unmoving in any cardinal direction (save for the illuminative cycle of her viridescent beam) she set her sights on the sky/on ascent. And so she climbed, green light gleaming/stairs, spiraling/until a storm rocked the isle of forced perspective, and she sank into the stone, at eye-level with the ships at last.

And as it so happened, one such ship carried a similarly forlorn, stranded passenger, who subsequently stepped off and across the stones, scraping herself on the sharkskin-gray rock/bleeding the iridescence of a nacreous shell. As she approached, the lighthouse's lantern bled rainbows in turn/the seepage of prismatic light through the glass... caused it to fissure and split to reveal—

The dancer within/the sputtering flame. Whose dark eyes spilled/extinguished as gravity compelled her fatigued form to fall freely into Emily's embrace.

Neither girl had seen the mainland in years. Both of them knew that the small isle was due to sink. So Emily took Grace up into her arms, and crossed the stones to the splintering dock, then to the smooth golden ramp which awaited them both.

On the precipice of boarding the [space]ship, Grace awoke and whispered, where are you taking me now?

Emily pondered, then replied in turn, we are going to catch Halley's Comet.

Grace looked her over incredulously. Are you nuts? Stopping here just for me? At this rate, she'll be out of your reach for the rest of your life! Why chance an eternity chasing dust... by halting your quest for my sake?

To this, Emily smiled sadly, and set Grace upon the bridge/knelt down herself/clutched Grace's warm hands in her own, frigid pair. All space is dust: reshaped, scattered, and scorched. I am destined for dust, as are you. Aspiration is a kindred delusion of mine—one which I'm sure you are acquainted with. Everything is elusive, especially those whom the stardust conceals; I'd rather tumble and bruise in my race with Halley, if only to fall by your side. So long as we hold the light of her tail in our eyes, our destiny/destination remains within reach.

And what's that? Grace inquired, her breath quick and soft.

Why does a ship seek a lighthouse, darling?