There’s beauty in the things untold.
In the things you can’t see.
Those little things that one might find mundane, but you look at it as if it’s a sanctuary. Housing pictures of burnished eyes, a mahogany casing that holds a cocoon of idolatry. That taste of love something only the gods sing of, but it drips from your lips as if it’s honey.
That untold sign of red that streaks when they touch you. A typhoon of fervor and devoutness that seeps into your skin like rain would with the Earth.
I wanted to touch it, like the sun that catches onto your skin. To feel it and wrap it into a ball, I wanted to swallow that bead of sunlight and let it spread throughout my fingertips, my toes, the very essence of my being and become one with you.
I had wanted to save that angel, much like Éloa wanted to save Lucifer, but in this sanctuary, such things could never be heard of.