He asked about her favorite bed time story.
Which one makes her arms feel warm,
like a hug from a lover that we have lost;
which one makes her heart beat softly,
as if the clouds were jealous of her;
& which one makes her breathing slow down,
I think she silently whispered it as a smile.
“The one where the hero dies because he saved the princess stuck in the glass castle. The one where he returns to stardust and talks her restlessness back into the stars. The one where his shine speaks to the sun’s wavelengths and how his colorful eyes met hers during twilight conversations. The one where he blows up and returns as a crater on the moon, the one where his fingers pressed rewind and got stuck in the tape. The one where he uses his heartstrings to play shadow puppets with the stars and he knows, he knows that he’s home. Because in his particular story, she watches everything he does and the princess knows that sleep shall return like how he returned to the universe.”
And he would reply, but he’s always a bit stuttering, a bit uttering, and a bit muttering.
So he said:
“I think that’s my favorite story too.