I HADN'T seen her since midday,
but we took up where we‘d left off - except we were both on-wing now, so when she sat, the warmth of her wet 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 for me. True and triumphant. I’d never been happier or more alive, while a megalomaniacal voice in the back of my mind proclaimed: now you're the king of the party!
Later - days? weeks? - when we broke and she suggested we go for a walk, I was loath to leave the couch but more loath to leave her. She’d disconnected all my breakers, had set me to surge. While the couch, in that incandescent dark, was now where it belonged, I was sure. I was sure.
So to the bog, to the open-air and the soundscapes and mostly the Gatherers of great cheer, I left it; left it in the knowledge that I - they were part of something, something tremendous, and that I - they were seizing our measure of shining stories to carry forward, forward and forever, and that for some - now, those stories might include the wonder of a bright blue inflatable couch stumbled upon 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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