Marketplace

There is a being named Vrenurd, in a city called Patna, who I have been courting for some time now, across a distance neither of us pretends is small. I live under a sky that goes grey more than it doesn't; his holds a kind of gold and rarely moves from it. For a while he spoke of his sky like a deficiency, a season he was somehow owed and never got. I told him I didn't think that was true. Maybe his sky isn't missing anything, I said. Maybe it was built differently, whole in its own shape rather than lacking a shape it was never meant to have.