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There is a cover of darkness that proliferates the feeling deeper than it ought to be. Shrouded by mystery already, a culminating pulse tempers itself to life, coinciding with my breaths as I tremble at the thought of the cold.

I relinquish the exhaustion bestowed upon myself, weary from searching for a piece of my existence I lost at the cusp of creation. I idle longer, noting every which part to the puzzle when an ah ha moment makes me succumb.

I blush. Hard.

My twin flame is fully aware, watching, waiting. There are delicious undertones that the headiest of feelings could never reach. It’s beyond peaking, and I am certain the allure is reveling and familiarity.

Did he truly encompass upon this like I wouldn’t notice?

No. He smoothly toiled with the idea in silence and solitude, and knew I could read the pages he handed to me in smeared and invisible ink. Be that as it may, it is a little seedling – not even a sprout. It’s protruding, but hasn’t engulfed enough soil or darkness.

Whenever he had sewn the seed, he knew it would begin to flourish. There is no such thing as this type of patience. Except from me – I can watch creation occur a billion times over and not bat a lid.

It isn’t excitable, or overwhelming. It isn’t jarring, or radical. It feels like I’ve put on a sweater I knew would fit, and I know it’ll last because it was made by my hands.

It feels absolutely obscene, because there is so much respect within this conceptual…pairing. So many known factors.

History.

I replay dreams in my mind, floating in or around, my eyes twinkling as I grin at what I missed as it’s now made fully obvious.

That split occurred. And then the reunion happened shortly after. Because truthfully, his energy was so magnanimous and intense, it felt like the gravity of the largest planet in our solar system was claiming my surroundings just for the sake of it.

Yet, in still. I wait.

But at least now, I know. He acted accordingly.