We always talked of red clouds and rocking ships. We spoke of how the smell of the sea air would flow through our bodies and lift our feet straight off the ground. The sails would flutter in the wind, like wings we'd use to escape our own personal Hells. We'd fly to Heaven together.
I could crouch down and feel my hand running through the water, a synapse between the air and sea. Collapsible telescopes would open our eyes to distant horizons, the deepest reds and blues. The roar of waves would match the beat of our hearts, swoosh-csh, swoosh-csh, swoosh-csh.
When darkness came, I'd see the moon, reflected in his eyes. I'd find each constellation of stars upon his skin. He told me I'd fall asleep to the rhythm of the waves, with his voice singing along near-whisper.

It has been weeks upon weeks since I heard words of escape, ringing like bells in his resonant voice. Looking at the starless sky, I wonder when he'll come for me.
But a small, quiet thought echoes in my mind.


Maybe he's already there.