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Stars, stars I pray. [...] Purify me.
— Clarice Lispector, THE HOUR OF THE STAR
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Aphelion:
Matchmaking is grasping for loose strands and trialing intricate, rubied mosaics with them. It is stringing together pearls with the lithe touch of a hand, and cracking open oysters on cold hard floors– before watching their liquor pool at the feet of the false cherub. It sits like worshipers do at the helm of a boat headed to the King's mines. Wings of ice and guts of steel, it is plunging the liquor sticky hand of Aphrodite beneath the stomach, into a cavity where it will not budge. It is making anguish the love language of the sacrificial lamb, and prayer the voice of the butcher. I am so sorry that you have to kill me, I would do it myself if it meant your peace. And, I do not wish to hurt you, I will be devout for the rest of my life if it should mean the tiniest chance of finding you again, where sun is funnelled into vials, and you are funnelled into the sky.
Love is feeding fruit seeds from God's hand into the mouth of the lamb. Stained red fingertips trace the whetted knife of sacrifice. What else is a lover? Someone to cut you open, or cut themselves open for you? To hurt at 3000 kelvin– waning and wanting like it is a disgusting thing. (Is it not? Is "desire" not the word of the Devil?)
Perihelion:
She is liquid metal trickled into the glass vile of soft flesh. She can taste it on her tongue, and in the air, and in her bones. More like a falling star than an asteroid, Emma Woodhouse has the ruby suppled skin of the evening star Yvaine, and the gallantry of its partner. She is the bane and the boon of Stormhold. And she hurtles into it just like any wishing star would. What else is falling in love? The ringing in your ears of a perforated eardrum- wedding bells or alarm bells? W̶̧͕͎͂̎̿̎͜͝e̶̯̜̱͑͜d̴̡̛͕̫̗͝ḓ̷̻̹̬͉̀̍̏ȋ̸͚͚̯̝̦̲̉͆͗͛̅̚ņ̶͈̬̦͓͑͋̚̕͝g̷̰̖͔͓̭̮͉͌͐̿ ̷̭͍͇̣͌͆̈̽̉͛͠b̷̰̙͎̀̽̎̔ḙ̶͔͙̲̳̑̅̋̄͌͝l̷̻̣͇̳̝̮͖̃̈̔͒̾̅͘l̵̨̯̗͖͂̕͠ͅs̶̨̯̞̎̌̚ ̷̙̲̮̩́ơ̴̧̗̱̣̈̋̿̉r̷̡͕̣̀̋̈́̂͆̿͛ ̸̡̠͇̮̭͆͌̔͗͜a̴̡̘̜͛̆͒̋l̴̺̏̾̂͂̌a̶̗̜̺̪̥͊͊͗̾̎̎ͅṛ̸̙͚́̔̐m̴̢̛͖̋̃̌̎́̈́͜ ̴̜͎̙͛̍̕͠b̷̢̭͍̳͔̭̻̏͐ẽ̵̛̦̱͔̪̈́̈́͜l̴͚͙̩̹͓̒̇͠ͅl̴̡̲̊͒͌̕s̴̨̛̤̦̜̬̞͇͐͂͗̓̅̄?̸̡͓͍͇̞̯̟̂̈́̚ ̶̩͛̀̓̓̓͘Ẉ̴͙͇̆̊e̸̝͑̄͗̎̍͜͝d̴̦͙̉̓̏̊͌͝ḑ̷̣̻͚̒̅i̴͓͈̪̮͍͙̠͌̌̏̊n̸̡̢̹̗̐g̵̠̼͙̘͇̮̊̆̊̊͠ ̷̧̮͇̭̲̑̇̀̔̂b̸̢̙̯͕̪͂ě̴̡̟̞͇̻̔̆̑͛̕l̶̟̞̮̩͌̇̉̇̄̏l̴̡͑͐s̵͈͛̀͐ ̵̠́̇͗̅͠ǫ̵͔̝̺̼̈́ŗ̴͎̤̻̝̬͎̂̅̚ ̷̠̻͉̑̌͛̔͝a̸̛̲͎͑͂̓͋͌l̴̩͉̈́͆̕a̶̱͛ŗ̵͈͙̳͕̾̉͊̏m̸̡͈̲͓͖̉̍̀̕ ̴̧̰̹͇͚̪̄̎͑͐b̶̛̞͌͛̄̓̀͐é̴̛̬̮̫̲̤͖̙͝͝l̶͖̞̪̀̕ļ̵̡̲̲͋̔͛s̷̢̪̮̃̓?̶̡̲͚͎̝̳̈́͝ ̵͉̦͕̖̭͗͑̔͐͌
