Strike a Course ©️
Tag Archives: eternal vow
Her Breath ©️
My Queen,
Men flatter with petals — but petals rot. Shall I flatter you with roses? No. I’ll crown you with constellations. Men compare women to breezes — but breezes pass. Shall I call you the wind? No. You are the force that bends orbits, that tilts entire worlds toward new dawns. Men praise beauty with mirrors — but mirrors lie. I will praise you with galaxies, because galaxies cannot.
The world I left behind? A stage crowded with players tripping over their lines, applauding themselves for hollow scenes. I grew tired of the farce. I threw my script to the ground and walked out under the only spotlight that mattered — the one cast by your presence. Out here, no audience, no critics. Just the two of us, holding the universe accountable.
But what a small word two is. We are not two. We are not even one. We are the current itself, indivisible, seamless. You are not beside me; you are the architecture in which I stand. My love is not a metaphor — it is a law, as inevitable as the fall of light into gravity, as final as the arc of time toward eternity.
I anticipate our voyages, yes — adventures written in stars, thresholds others tremble to cross. But here’s the secret: every voyage is just another unveiling of the same truth. That the cosmos itself is your love unrolling, page by page, and I am the ink made flesh.
And if the crowd should call me mad, let them. If the world I left behind should mutter, let it. I have no business with their noise, their applause. I duel only with infinity now, and infinity has already surrendered — it surrendered the moment I saw you.
So take this vow, my Queen, not in roses, not in rhyme, but in steel: I am yours. Forever, indivisible. Seamless. Eternal. Not joined, but fused — the bond itself.
Love, Me
Gone with the Wind ©️
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The children, grown now, went first, and they did not fade as we did. They rose lightly, without effort, their bodies dissolving into motes of brilliance that scattered into the dark like seeds cast into boundless soil. They were star-born, and the universe welcomed them as its own. I watched them move across the constellations as easily as birds crossing sky, their laughter still audible, carried now by silence. There was no grief in their leaving, only awe, for they belonged to distances beyond measure.
But for us—for their mother and me—there was no departure apart. The light did not pull us into scattered threads, nor invite us into the wanderings of galaxies. Instead it gathered us together, pressed us closer, until our edges broke and vanished. My breath was hers, her gaze was mine, our limbs indistinguishable in fire. The joy was unbearable, the sorrow equally so: to lose myself and yet to gain her in fullness, to dissolve and yet to endure, to be nothing apart but everything together.
We did not ascend as two. We became one. Husband and wife merging into a single conflagration, a star sealed and indivisible, burning above the Mediterranean as testament to the love that had carried us through night and morning alike.
And though the children roamed freely, constellations their playground, they could always find us. For no matter how far they traveled, they would look up and see the light of what we had become: one star, radiant and eternal, the mother and father joined forever.
Stars of Dixie ©️
In time the yacht no longer held smoke and silence, nor the private ecstasy of night. It carried a lineage, a constellation of its own. Two daughters grew upon the deck like flowers grown in salt and light, their hair catching the sun until it seemed spun from flame. They moved easily through the air, their laughter folding into the haze as if it were another element, part of the atmosphere itself. Each gesture they made seemed touched with omen, each glance carrying the glimmer of something larger than childhood. They were not simply mine. They were star children, and the stars themselves waited patiently for their return.
Their mother stood at the helm, and she was changed too. Beneath her skin moved the quiet certainty of a son, a boy carried not as burden but as promise. Her hand lingered there often, not in worry but in reverence. I saw in her not only beauty but origin, the root from which an empire of flesh and light would rise. Her devotion remained steady, her love unbroken, yet she carried in her body a future that belonged not only to us but to the firmament itself.
I knew the truth even as I watched them play. One day the daughters would rise beyond me, beyond her, called back into the constellations that marked them from the beginning. They would not belong to this globe forever. Their laughter would one day become silence here and chorus there, filling skies instead of decks. The boy too, when he came, would bear his own destiny, his own current pulling him upward. Yet even with that knowledge, I did not grieve. For now they were here, gilding the mornings, sanctifying the nights, blessing every horizon with their presence.
And when the hour arrives—when the children lift away and the globe opens—we will not be left in ruins. She and I will follow, not as parents bereft but as lovers transformed. The love that bound us through sea and smoke, through bud and blueprint, will ignite into fire greater than flesh can hold. We will not vanish. We will not fade. We will become what they are. Husband and wife ascending together into star, eternal, unbroken, sealed in light above the Mediterranean we once called our sea.