I should have loved a thunderbird instead
at least when spring comes they roar back again
Aegean crafts his own dreams.
They are quick and slow—as majestic as the depths of the ocean or the stars above them and then as slow as intimate moments curled around one another like smoke. He grows more and more isolated, the more he is able to create such things. He spends more and more time on his own, fascinated with the way that his mind can find such things—can carve them from stone and then from nothing. The way that he can wander forever and never get lost, never find that he is bored or alone or anything but utterly happy.
So he does not know how long he has been alone.
Only that he has been alone for a while.
He has managed to find himself back in Hyaline, although the concept of home is an increasingly fuzzy one, and he wanders the mountains. Before him, he paints illusions of wildflowers and then ocean floors and remote, icy places. He paints them in fascination and awe, his heart stuttering with each new one.
And it is only when he catches that wisp of scent that he pauses.
Slowly, he brings his handsome head up, amethyst eyes peering into the nothingness.
The wind is disturbed around him and the snow flutters as the pair of instantly recognizable wings appear before him. Aegean’s face does not change much, but his eyes darken just a little and his smile teases at the edge of impossibly white lips. “Have I dreamed you into existence again then?” he questions, as though to himself, as Pteron appears before him. His skin warms, despite the snow that falls gently around them, muffling the sound of his voice but not dulling the milky glow that he gives off.
“I have dreamt of you so often,” he says, unashamed. “I would not be surprised.”
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
