inventing the sunrise

i. he was a child of the sun – brown skin and sundrenched hair and passion filling him up until he couldn’t contain it, and it burst out through his laughter.

ii. she was made of moonlight and mystery, stars glimmering in her eyes and shadows fluttering on her skin.

iii. he always carried a tropical flower, bright yellow, because he thought it was like carrying the sun. she always carried a small jar of stars, sparkling brightly, because she thought they were the most beautiful things in the world. and when they met, it was perfect.

no one ever saw him cry but her. no one ever saw her laugh but him.

i. he couldn’t get used to her world, with its dark shadows and mysterious faces. she couldn’t get used to his world, with its loud laughter and blinding sun. they tried for a while, tried to be together, tried to survive. but surviving wasn’t enough.

ii. she cried when she realized they couldn’t stay together. taking his hand, she slipped her jar of stars into it. because you’re the most beautiful thing in the world, she said. he cried then, too. he tried to give her his flower, but she shook her head. she told him to put it in the jar, so they would be together always; so he did. then both of them watched in wonder as pinks and reds and purples began swirling around the jar. i like that, she whispered. me too, he replied.

iii. he is a child of the sun; she is made of moonlight and mystery. they spend their days and nights apart, staying where they belong. but twice every day, when the golden rays of the sun trickle into the night sky, they come together. and they sit, under the pink and red and purple clouds, watching the moon and sun drift across the sky.

and they live.

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