in my time here, i want to be
revered and remembered
oh, let them say i
came, i conquered
o n e
The world is at our feet, he says. Up here, everything belongs to us.
He's right. Up here, embraced by the black velvet sky and the twinkling green fairy lights, the world is truly ours. I am queen of this cold stone rooftop; he is king of the warmth emitting from us.
Only here, I have to remind.
I am logic; he is dreams.
I am science, constant and predictable and still being discovered; he is art, varying and unannounced and open to interpretation.
It's all ours, he insists. This is our kingdom.
And I have to wonder, which kingdom was made by a pair of rebellious teenagers, too drunk on the idea of forbidden love to consider anything else?
Perhaps this rooftop is our kingdom, perhaps our crowns are green specks of light that fall into our hair.
And perhaps this rooftop is our fantasy, and perhaps we have no crowns but collars, collars that bind us to our differences and drive away the threat of being alike, of being two souls drawn to each other simply because we complement each other rather than two people shoved together in the hopes of the good match expected of them.
Or perhaps we have both crowns and collars. Perhaps these two are in a constant war against each other, just as we are all in a constant war against ideals.
Our kingdom, I say. The words taste like hope.
YOU ARE READING
green light
Short StoryOn depression, and recovery. ❝Perhaps this is our kingdom, perhaps our crowns are the green specks of light that fall into our hair. And perhaps this is our fantasy, and perhaps we have no crowns but collars, collars that bind us to our differences...
