presage ovenbird “How is your heart?” you ask. And I’m already crying, because if love was a question, it would be that one. No one has asked me a question like that in a long, long time. It is generally preferred that my heart stay quiet and tucked away so it doesn’t cause any trouble. But you want to know how it’s faring, and that changes everything, doesn’t it? I say, “my heart is aching but alive.” You say that yours is in a similar state of vulnerable disrepair. Your arrival was ordained. I know this isn’t rational, but I can’t see it any other way. The night before the strange events that set us on a path to convergence, the sky exploded in a wild aurora. I stood outside until well after midnight feeling like I’d swallowed the cosmos. I didn’t know what was coming. I didn’t know that everything was moving, but my body was charged by the sun’s shed skin colliding with the atmosphere. The experience tore me open, left me raw and receptive and you walked right into me and stayed. You are a solar storm. Impossible. Inevitable. And wherever we meet my atmosphere falls into technicolour dreaming. Every day I watch you burn, and wait for your light to reach me. 260825 what's it to you? who go blather from