It's All in the Eyes

I’m chasing a phantom, all because our eyes met once, fleetingly, across the spacer-zones. The odds of seeing her again are smaller than stabilizing my own Hertey flux. Grim, by any reasonable metric.

Since the Deboup shift half a kiliyear ago, hope has curled around my heart like a secret fire. God revealed Himself then—merciful, omnipotent, unimaginably kind—and suddenly the universe feels full of possibility, and her glance feels like a gravity I can’t escape.

So I leap again. Back and forth. Through and through. Burning every spare Grison just to feel her eyes on mine once more.

Here we go again.

Cue Whitesnake.