Until the Sky Swallows us I will Love You: Night Two

Michael is telling me a story. He’s reminding me of why we are here. The fog in my mind has faded, the rain has stopped, and I can see him. Hear him. God, he is so bright…

This all started for a reason. A man we do not know chanted a rhyme I will dare to speak aloud. Because we can’t make things worse. It went,

‘You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right. Come to us in your wholeness. Come to us in your perfection. Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies. Come to us. I open the door.’

Hearing it made me feel violated. Like the deepest reaches of my soul were torn out and spat on the ground, left for the eyes who watch us from the sky to judge and mock.

Yet I know this will all slip away from me. This peace of mind will only last some time. That is why Michael is telling me now, rather than later. I will forget again and I will fall. It’s been that way for a long time now. But for the time being, while I can think clearly, I latch onto every word Michael speaks and I hold onto his burning body like a lifeline. He rests his hands in my hair as he plaits it, and speaks about everything and nothing all at the same time. And I can make out the words.

I don’t know how he knows these things. How he can see past the walls of our cabin. I don’t know why I still can’t, with my clear head. Michael just knows things. Little things, big things, and he whispers them gently to me without a thought. He’s so gentle… a gentle flame, with so much knowledge and so much clarity that he is in pain. The things he sees out there are less than right. He should never have looked.

But I listen. I listen to every word he speaks of how the world has changed, every piece of pain and anguish he has seen beyond our walls. He describes the eyes to me. They look into his heart and he stares right back into them. He feels everything the people outside feel, and he sees everything the people outside see. He knows there are people out there. We aren’t alone, not completely. But I don’t think I’d want anyone else here now. I think I’d like it to stay just me and my burning flame. God, I love him… he loves me. But I can feel the fog creeping back into my thoughts. I’ve learnt not to fight it. It only makes it worse, only makes the memories and the thoughts fuzzier. So I let my mind drift as he speaks. He knows. But he carries on anyway.

It’s raining. I think it’s raining. I can’t see the rain, but I can hear the thick droplets as they hit our window. The sky is crying tonight, mourning some unknown thing. Michael is holding me as I take it in. He knows I can’t remember what the rain was like, and once it ends I might not again. He rests his face near mine, and his breath is boiling my skin alive, his hands are burning my own and I know he can see the tears falling outside. I wish I could. But all I can see is fog.

Michael knows all of this. He knows me, however little I decide to tell him. He knows what’ll make me cry and what’ll make me smile. He knows my connection to the rain, but I don’t. All I know is that it is me. Somehow, somewhere, the rain knows me like he does. And that comforts me.

He rests a hand on my cheek as he looks me in the eyes. I can’t see him properly, but I can feel him staring. He talks, and talks, but it’s all just noise. And he knows this, but he does it anyway. I lean into his burning hands and I close my eyes and I feel all the warmth that makes up his existence. And I listen to the rain as it drowns out the sky. He can see, so why can’t I? His sight is so profound and meaningful. He sees past all the defenses I build us, all my attempts at ignorance to the outside world. He sees past it all, and he sees me instead.

I hear small parts of his words as he holds me ever closer. ‘Isaac’, he speaks my name, ‘you’re cold’, he mutters in my ear. He knows I can’t tell what he’s saying, but he tries anyway. I love listening to his nonsense. I love hearing the rain. All I could want aside from that is to see past the fog and dust and dirt that coats my brain, the frosty glass which covers my eyes and the water clogging my ears, muffling every sound.

He’s burning. Burning so bright and so beautiful. He’s so different to me, such an opposite force to everything I am. I am the cold and the rain and the ice and the snow. He is the warmth and the sun and the fire and the day. He is so much more beautiful than I am and he loves me. Michael has the clarity I dream of having, and the fire I don’t think I ever will.

When the fog fades, I hope to see him again. Hear his nonsense clearly, see his flame become brighter. But for now, I keep my eyes closed tighter shut, I feel his hands, so gentle, against my face, and I hold myself close enough that he can’t let go of me. His voice passes through my ears as he rests his face near them. I can’t remember what he sounds like, even as he speaks. I feel cold. When did I start feeling cold? Why does he make me feel warm? How did we get here?

We’re in the cabin. Michael is on fire. The world is ending. I am forgetting. The fog is heavy. I am… falling.

Wait. No. That’s not right. I’m in my bed, and Michael is holding me. It is raining.