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You said "Ain't this just like the present
To be showing up like this"
As a moon waned to crescent
We started to kiss
The stars shine like diamonds up in the sky. Thousands and thousands of them, blinking like tiny satellites in the inky blackness; the one thing about island life that he doesn't mind. The vastness swallows him whenever he looks skywards. It's reassuring that something can. For a fleeting moment he feels grateful that they're being kept outside, glad he can look skyward and feel safe.
The hum of electricity melts into the background of chirping crickets and rustling leaves. He knows she's awake over there, a few feet away. He can feel her breathing, feel her shallow chest rising and falling. He's never been around someone who makes the black hole inside of him ache so badly. It's why he hadn't liked to be near her at first, she gave him a nauseas kind of tug in his chest that made him uncomfortable. She made him feel vulnerable and dumb, like a kid two days before his world collapsed. She made him feel like he was on the edge of complete and irrecoverable obliteration.
Somewhere above her, the night is alive and somewhere to the right of her, so is Sawyer. She likes it when he's quiet, likes basking in the comfort of a man who she trusts. He makes sad motel lobby music play inside her head. It plays on a loop, desolate and melancholic with a country twang that reminds her bitterly of home. Reminds her of faded, dust bitten memories that feel like somebody else's life. Miles and years away from here. They stalk her at night, but somehow when she's in his presence they never pounce.
“Hey,” He whispers. “Freckles?”
“Yeah?”
“You doin' ok over there?”
“Yeah. You?”
He'd like to hold her in his arms. He wants to lick a path from her collarbone to her ear and bury his nose in her curls. He bets she smells like summer dust on an Iowa farm. He bets she feels like home. He bets she tastes like strawberries.