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Stellar Field

Deep in the valley between the two tallest peaks, gently embraced by an old family of oaks, lives a tiny meadow that glows in the light of the stars...

I go there often, to dance with the will o' the wisps under the soothing blanket of night.

We step and sway and swirl together, at one with the symphony of chirps and croaks echoing through the tall, ancient woods.

The gleaming dewdrops perched atop proud blades of grass, a mirror of the stars above...

And I can't help but to think of you.

I can feel you next to me as I lay in a spongey bed of moss, our favorite place to make love with the waxing moon, adding our own songs of life to the chorus of creatures around us...

But on this night the song I sing is not one of rapture, nor has it been since you left this world two solemn years ago. No, tonight I shout to the stars in longing for your touch, your warm embrace, your presence embodied in the flesh.

And although I feel you here in spirit, and although this meadow is lush with the love we shared together — it is not enough to fill the void of your death in my heart.

That is why, on this night, I am coming to meet you, my dear. I know you understand.

This bed of moss shall be my body's final place of rest. The cool dampness beneath me mixing with the warmth of my blood now, is a pleasant contrast.

The light of the waxing moon on this silver blade, a star in my hand.

Yes, I can feel you here now, my love.

I can... see you...



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