you pull the bow taught, because i want you to.

we lock eyes, and you do not avert my gaze.

there is an understanding, an agreement;

we both know what is happening, and it is dangerous.

for ten kalpa i have taken no risks, and so am reborn instantly. it’s not until i inhale that i realize how long i have been holding my breath. shocked by my lung capacity, i keep breathing.

as oxygen floods my mind, i lean back with my full weight.

i am yours.

you even say so yourself.

my eyes glisten, dodecahedra rotate in my pupils. you seem puzzled by my amazement, because you fail to realize your own incredible worth.

i thank my gods for giving me a glimpse of your soul.

i thank you for the myriad ways this glimpse change me.

but now your fingers are fraying,

unbinding themselves from your bowstring, from my heartstring.

choosing not to play, you release your grasp, proclaiming that you are no virtuoso.

unable to claim every note as perfect, i have no rebuttal, but we’re only just beginning our song.

how could its mere overture ever satiate, when we knew what was to come?

those chords will never be played, and now you avert my gaze.

did you ever agree to our agreement?

all four winds are knocked out of me,

and i now refuse to breathe for ten kalpa more.

maybe one day ill find a responsible archer.

i truly wish it had been you.