Letters Across the Nebula...
[Log Entry: Station 09 // Sector Neon]
The sky here is neon and noise,
a crowded grid of ships rushing toward the core,
but I only watch the edge of the screen,
waiting for your signal to clear the dust.
Out my viewport, the nebula burns a violent purple tonight,
and I wonder if the light looks the same from your window,
or if the distance has bent the color
into something I wouldn't recognize.
My tea has gone cold on the metal console.
I have forgotten how to sit still
.....without your gravity.
[Log Entry: Sector 04 // The Valley]
It is raining here. Real rain.
It falls on the solar panels with a heavy, organic thrum
that sounds like a clock slowing down.
From my desk, the nebula is only a faint, amber smudge
on the northern horizon—
the dying ember of a fire we used to stand near.
I am writing this on actual paper,
letting the ink dry under the lamp,
because code feels too fast for how much I miss you.
If a light-year is a measure of time,
then I am four years older every time I think of your voice.
[Log Entry: Intercepted // Mid-Transit]
—transmission fragment // signal degrading—
Do not let the quiet halls change you.
—signal crackle—
I have kept your seat pulled up at the wood desk.
—signal crackle—
If the warp gate crumbles completely,
look to the variable light at the edge of the sky.
I will be the shadow
holding the flame.
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