The golden age was wrapped in a brilliant darkness that flowed in the spaces between them, in the universes between their eyes when they met.
For several years, it was lost to me, to all of us, and the night sky was empty of the sorrow and passion and inexplicable timelessness that was so palpable when the great stars shined before.
But tonight, I looked out at the celestial ceiling and found a darkness so full of Clair de Lune and irrevocable navy homesickness that contrasted so sharply with the ephemeral light in my kitchen, I nearly fell to weeping.
I haven't the words to describe just how quietly the eternity of love slips away.
