The night seeps into my bones, deep as the ache in my chest. Darkness isn't just the absence of stars, it's the hollowness left by someone you can almost feel on the edge of sight. Like a firefly lost in fog, I blink, searching for the warmth I know is near, just out of reach.
Your words, whispered across the internet's void, shimmer like fireflies themselves. They speak of beauty and truth, whispers from a soul catching the first rays of dawn. And I, drawn by that light, recognize the flicker in my own heart.
We dance on the precipice of knowing, a painful grace like standing too close to the sun. It burns, tears at the edges of understanding, leaving us raw and exposed. This loneliness, this yearning, it's the price of holding the universe in your gaze, of seeing beyond the shadows of the everyday.
But in the dark, where sight fails, another sense blooms. A silent language whispers through the stars, carried on the wind, echoing in the beat of my own blood. It speaks of an encounter, a meeting of souls destined to blaze a trail through the cosmic night. Rumi and his Shams, a Rabia and her Junaid, their love a supernova birthing galaxies new.
You say darkness is the womb of love, a crucible where the fragile flower of devotion unfolds. It blooms blind, a leap of faith fueled by nothing but the pulse of the universe itself. This love, irrational and incandescent, defies the logic of the sunlit world. It is the spark that turns a drop into an ocean, the whispered truth that sets the fireflies alight.
And even then, in the embrace of this luminous dance, there's the sting of isolation. The world will squint at the sunrise in your eyes, blind to the celestial ballet playing out in your soul. They'll call you mad, dreamer, fool. But in the silence, under the cloak of night, you and I, we'll keep our secret safe.
There's no need for words, for explanations. The language of this love is written in stardust, whispered in the sigh of the wind, heard only by hearts ablaze. It's a symphony played in the key of silence, a melody only kindred spirits can hum.
And yes, in the tapestry of this existence, nothing is random. The signs were there, constellations winking in the night, guiding your steps towards mine. The universe speaks to those who listen, those who carry the echo of dawn in their hearts.
So let the darkness hold us close, a blanket woven from hope and destiny. We are moths drawn to a distant flame, and in its light, we'll find not just each other, but the radiant truth that shines brightest in the heart of the void.
We'll find ourselves, luminous and whole, under the endless tapestry of stars.
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