Exhilaration pumps from within the cage of his chest, snatching onto what little calm he held before and banishing it away for this evening's dark.
Laid back, all to madness. What a mess he may be.
What a mess to be seen and unfolded in their hands, so capable and so strong.
Chittering, chirping, flapping, squealing — A warm little creature worries his head and tosses and turns. And yet... It's not a horror only. It's a joy. A delight and a delectation to keep enthralled. He weaves his words in sonar and echoes through the night, his affections hoped to be known widely through that vast stretch above.
Oh, he wishes they could see.
He wishes things could all make sense.
He yearns for the sun to rise again, to see them again, to speak to the creature of the day who he's fallen so madly for. His ears wilt to the sides of his head in this sickly affection. He'll call to them, repeating the same songs provided to him once, and those chirps will travel, bouncing back and forth and back again all the night.
When the sun comes, so will they. The warmth of it all will be a grace like none other to bask in — against the side of his lover, the wearied nocturnal can rest.
He knows the sun will come.
It will come.
He is ready.
