thylajim:

(Energy Clouds // Even the universe has an atmosphere)

The sphere of that all that has ever been and all that will ever be, it’s its own world with unique laws of gravity and physical properties. Nebulas are the mist of the universe, gases and dust collecting and condensing, but the real mist, the real stuff, is made out of energy.

Jim is made out of that energy.

Stars begin to grow in his throat, and burn white hot in his chest against the palm of Leonard’s hand, drawing clouds of dust and meandering meteorites into the outer reaches of all things known.

He and Leonard, they travel space. Sinking into the cores of planets, soaring through meteor showers and peering at the dew drops, dazed, on alien petals. All of the universe is theirs, sown together with threads of fingertip brushes, and they could live forever.

“Forever is a long time you know.”

And what a short while forever turns out to be.

Forever is the way time beats like a drum around them, the way breezes come in all seasons but are most pleasurable in the early chill of spring. Time is the way every paradox dissipates into nothingness and circles learn to have a beginning and an end.

Jim murmurs silk and velvet against the electric crackle of Leonard’s ionized skin, “As if I mind.”

It turns out that forever does not cover infinity.

Forever does not cover how they speak in a million different languages, each with a more beautiful word for love than the last. Forever does not cover the way Jim finds Leonard beautiful all over again in the fleeting light of every collapsing sun.

No, of course not.
                              For that is infinite.

The way that Leonard holds Jim, encompasses him completely in contentment, that will last longer than forever. The way that Jim comes to Leonard in a thousand different forms,
                                            the lover,
                                                      the mage,
                                                                the architect.
On every blaring dawn and whispered press of skin. Jim is a part of him that he could never live without. His mind, his heart, his every drop of rain.

Become me, fill me with lightning and thunder, crash into me as if I am the cliff face and you are the Atlas of the Ocean making hurricane eyes to gaze at the Sky. Dance figure eights with me into the rings of Saturn as we redefine what it means to make a promise. Launch into space darling, come be with me and learn to gasp among the stars.

Jim is the life in every vein and Leonard is the action in every curling limb. They exist along the outer edges of exploration, knowing much more about laughter and sorrow than any cosmonaut. Kaleidoscopes of grace and beauty. Unbridled chaos. Everything and nothing in the same space.

Become the air in my lungs, become every organ I could never live without. Kiss me, Jim, please, love me until the stars run dry.

They are matters, colliding together until even voids feel empty. Devour me and you are no less beautiful.

“This,” he thinks, in complete surrender, “This is what it feels like to be made.”