I HADN'T seen her since midday
but we took up where we‘d left off, except we were both back on-wing ten thousand feet up and flying now, so when she sat with the warmth of her skin like fever, and she turned, illumined and effervescing, and our eyes in sempiternity met, the space, the time between us collapsed, we collapsed, to collide.
It was the highest high note of The Gathering. True and triumphant. I’d never been happier or more alive, while a megalomaniacal voice in the back of my head cried: now you're the king of the party!
Later - days? weeks? - when we broke and she said we should go for a walk I was loath to leave the couch but more loath to leave her. She’d disconnected all my breakers, set my ol' redline river to surge. While the couch in that living dark was where it belonged, I was sure. I was sure.
So to the ooze, to the open-air and the soundscapes and mostly the Gatherers of real cheer I abandoned it; abandoned it in the knowledge that I - they were part of something, something shining, and that I - they were seizing our full measure to carry forward, forward and forever, and that for some - now that measure might include the wonder of a bright blue inflatable couch found in the mud and the glory of the Trance Zone in those final scattered hours of that last climatic day.
I felt good about that.
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