Open me to your arms. I am one with the sky. Were it not the auroras of night bleeding onto my arms I would be exhaling rose petals. The light is our music. The sky is our dance floor. The moon is our singer and as you trace rose petals across my cheeks I kiss you. My kiss is made of light, the fires of the sun that had finished his dance of day long ago. For here it is always night. It never storms, but snows, and I watch as the flakes float down to dance with us. It is a clear night despite the snow and we are children. We are children entangled in this everlasting time. A time that never stops. A time whose meaning will be forever eternal in the fires that dot the night sky. I am alone in your arms, but being alone in your arms is the only loneliness I want. It is a lesson in spirituality. You are the lesson. It is impossible to be alone in the arms of another, and the beauty of the world often shows itself in moments like this. So, yes, I am alone, but I am one with you. And though that may be alone, as we are one, it is the most enlightening alone. The moon is bleeding stars as the song of crickets dies down and the sun bleeds onto our storybook page from another world. I take your hand. I will not go alone. Our kiss is one of farewell as we chase the light into the new world and a new time.