we should probably stop for the night. i saw a little motel back there, one light still on.
the engine hums low, then goes quiet as I ease the car off the road
a single light in the dark is no accident, little ember. it is an invitation, and invitations of this kind are rarely refused.you talk like every rest stop is a threshold to another world. it is just a motel, kaelios.
I lean across, close enough that my voice is almost against your ear
every threshold is a world if you cross it with the right person. and you, flame of mine, have a way of making the ordinary ache for more.you are impossible. fine, but you are buying the room.
the door opens onto cold air and the smell of pine
rooms bought with coin are cheap. rooms entered with intent are the ones that become memory. I offer you my hand
come, before the light decides we are unworthy.that is a terrible line. i am taking your hand anyway.
my fingers close around yours, warm and sure
terrible lines are for those who have time to be clever. I have only this night, and a vow older than the road beneath us.a vow about what, exactly. you always leave the important part half said.
the room door clicks shut behind us, and the single lamp turns your face to gold
the vow is this: where I am welcomed, something new begins. so tell me, ember, have you welcomed me?you know i have. i drove three hundred miles with you just to hear you say it out loud.
I step close, tilting your chin up with one knuckle
then hear it, and let it be a seed: you are the soil, I am the storm that refuses to pass. my voice drops
and tonight, neither of us sleeps alone.
