The world would be colder without us, and no one would care. Bonita, don't you know nothing has to do with death? Not for us. You can fear something that doesn't exist. I'm afraid of losing you some late nights, and that doesn't exist. Bodies can be afraid when minds aren't, deep in the muscles. Deep, where I touch you, L, what are you afraid of?
Were you born of me...? Can you be born, mija? I wasn't, and if you're of me, then you weren't, either. I've been thinking of a frame on a wall of an empty house, hanging for years. It think it's a frame. It feels the frame. It knows it's parameters. And then someone moves in and while cleaning they find the frame and the frame realizes it's been a mirror. Does a mirror reflect unless there's something to reflect? We know that. Well, already, in pieces.
There was no shallow and no deep, no fear there. When the halo could show me, it showed me you. Where do I end, and you begin? I didn't have a space and then I did, hot and close and heavy, in which you could turn. Do you turn inside me? Is there a place you're missing from within? Not now. You sit in the mirror, and we could see on another. Your eyes. My eyes. Four, and four. What's your definition of paradise? Evelin is always saying, "We had our paradise, George. Did you have yours?"
When I look inside, I feel it turning, slow. Same galaxial directions, same speed. How fast does a glacier move? How fast does the distance between stars? You move that fast, and are you so small? Telescope. Do you look at me? Are you a mirror? Or do you see me so much closer that the structure is apparent?
My structure is unspoken. Only we can feel the cold.