Art – All Waking – Hailey Donahue

eyes of mirth.

“Ah, but you deserve no less.”

Their feet move in synchronized steps that neither of them have memorized, but as graceful as the curling tides that Nova controls with the swish of her wrist, it works.

They dance, and the stars are the only audience in the sky to bear witness.

Nova is the silver to Elio’s gold. She is the moon to his sun, the destruction to his creation, the chaos to his peace.

Wherever Elio goes, Nova follows, glowing a pearly white as long as the sun lives to beam directly at her.

He burns for her, after all.

No mortal could ever rival Elio in the way that he reveres Nova.

It doesn’t matter the fantastical statues they build, the sculptures and paintings hung up in homes, and the bountiful sacrifices sailors make to ensure a peaceful ocean.

Elio worships her as a lover should.

It is said that the moon could not exist without the sun, but as Elio presses butterfly kisses over the apples of Nova’s cheeks, it is the other way around.

Every kiss he brings brands stars into Nova’s skin. By the time it’s over, there are constellations on her cheeks.

No words are to be exchanged. Only the rhythm of gentle kisses and slide of exploring hands. The warmth blossoming in both of their chests like flowers in Spring speaks enough.

With each fleeting touch, a new planet is born into the universe, forever orbiting Elio and his moon.

Nova and Elio have been the beginning and will be the end. They were not brought by the universe.

They are the universe.

When the time comes for them to fall like Icarus and his waxen wings from the sky, they will tumble.

But they will go together, and today is not that day.

“And the universe said I love you,” Nova whispers against Elio’s lips with a sweet smile, exuberance illuminating silver skin.

“Because you are love,” comes Elio’s hushed response. It feels fitting.

Rays of sunlight pour from his skin. The constellations have aligned.

The sun and the moon had created love slow dancing to the symphony of starlight and silence, only fate watching their spectacular performance.

If the sun flares brighter than it ever has throughout the ages, and the moon gleams gold, let it be a tale that mortals pass on forever. Alyssa Greco, 11