observatory (3)

Everything was muffled into silence. Even the tiny contraption that had always signified life on the other end was still. The only vibrations detected by my eardrum were the memory of the quivering acoustics of your breathing the night we last slept beside each other and the reality of the curtain blown wildly by the indifferent wind. The ashtray where I had laid my last stick of the moontime exhaled fumes, and flashes of your mirage filled my eyes and became a white shadow of Phrixos swimming in a sea of illusion of our bodies in smoke and constellations connecting the lines of a ram and a seagoat. The two beasts played in the mist as if fervently waiting for the precession of the equinoxes. But then, they clashed. The ram’s head crashed into the seagoat’s chest. Pieces of paper were on fire. Suddenly they were all gone—the cigarette, the fire, the ram and the seagoat. I tried looking for Phrixos; I tried looking for another image out of the smoke. But everything seemed gone. I stared blankly at the floor. Suddenly, I couldn’t even see the floor. I couldn’t see the blankness except for tiny black stars beginning to suspend in the air, in the seemingly perpetual cold coldness of the night. And with every zephyr that pierced my skin on those sleepless hours, I couldn’t take my mind off you.