the morning sun and the night sky.

[loans]

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[loans]

[ the sound of his laugh is an echo. it is genuine, it comes from the heart. kaveh sees fit to laugh, in spite of everything. he laughs, mouth open, teeth out, dimples prominent. it makes his heart fond, his body warm. for a moment, there's no sorrow, no melancholy, no inevitable will of fate itself. for a moment, there's kaveh, alhaitham, and memories of better times. ]

They really weren't that needed. You could always have just pulled me back inside instead of letting me bake under the sun. You never did.

[ no, alhaitham never did. alhaitham, kind-hearted that he is, has rarely found will to chain kaveh down. he complains, yes. he complains, and scolds, and whines, and bickers with him. he makes it seem as though he couldn't stand kaveh's way of living, of being. kaveh, throughout the years, realized that's not quite what it is.

he disagrees, yes. but never once he has stopped kaveh from doing what his heart wished for.

there had been times his heart wondered if it's pity, above all else. kaveh has long locked away such concerns, loathe as he is to let them haunt him. but just like everything else in his life, routine that it is, the momentary joy is, too, momentary. the corners of his mouth slowly fall back into something far smaller, far weaker. ]

... I wish we could stay here forever. Would it be so bad? The sun is warm. I can feel your calluses. They're getting bigger. [ kaveh attempts a bigger smile. it does not go through. ] Isn't reality too cruel a thing?

[haravatits]

[ kaveh laughs. the sound carves through alhaitham. it hollows him.

if asked, alhaitham would pose this response: why would he? for it is something kaveh has decided to do for himself. in no universe would alhaitham ever stand in the way of what kaveh wants to do; in no way would alhaitham want to, even if the action results in kaveh's demise. kaveh, who has never allowed himself to want without guilt. alhaitham, who has never allowed himself to need beyond reason. they stand on opposing sides of a long path, but the bridge between them has always been this: their joined hands, the warmth of palm against palm, finger against finger. kaveh's hands are warm in the dream. it is how alhaitham knows that this is not the right dream.

each kaveh is his kaveh. this is not, ultimately, his kaveh. but in no universe could alhaitham look at kaveh and think - he can be left alone. ]

Even this dream is reality, for only reality can house dreams. [ is what alhaitham says. ] If the tools were to be placed in your hands, would you not build your own dream? One where the foundation is seamless; one where the creation is yours. Is that not so?

[loans]

[ would he? if the tools were to be placed in his hands; rulers, compasses, several different types of pens and pencils, the drafting board his mother had left for him. if he were given the chance to sit on his chair, before a blank canvas, would he build his own dream? a fantasy dream, where he is healthy, where he is happy. a dream where his family is together, alive and well, where his mother smiles and his father pets him on the head. a dream where eleazar does not haunt him, or anyone else.

a dream that even alhaitham would be part of.

all of that is, ultimately, a dream. his reality is nothing like that. ]

Are you not the one who ever saw fit to ground me back to reality, so I don't go off chasing my ever so unrealistic ideals? If this dream is reality, then why must we suffer so, even here? [ there is a squeeze of a hand that does not let go. ] Wouldn't it be too cruel to be haunted even by dreams?

[haravatits]

[ if this dream is reality, why must we suffer so? kaveh uses the word 'we' with such cavalier ease, when in reality, the only person who suffers here is kaveh. alhaitham does not suffer. he has a task to complete, a monumental undertaking that he will accomplish regardless of the purple of the padisarahs and the wings of the bird soaring overhead. it is a task that he has chosen for himself; it is a task where failure is unacceptable.

still, kaveh poses the question, and in no universe would alhaitham fail to respond. he shakes his head. ]

Is that what you would like for me to say to you, now, Kaveh? [ alhaitham exhales, low, in the way of a sigh. ] They did not believe it when you claimed that we have rubbed off on one another.

nvm don't use those icons. alhaitham is too handsome...

[loans]

[ it would not, no, but it would be an alhaitham response, and an alhaitham response is comforting. it would make this alhaitham real, genuine. an alhaitham is kind, and considerate, but still alhaitham.

he attempts a smile, again. it does not go through, again. it weighs in his heart. ]

Do you not think we have? You've grown kinder. [ or is it pity? kaveh does not voice it, but it shows in his eyes, red and bleeding. ] Years ago, I scolded you one too many times for not being considerate.

[ another squeeze of alhaitham's hand. ] What is this, then?

:sparkles:

[haravatits]

[ only kaveh can look at the maw of alhaitham's desires and his relentless pursuit of want, and call it kind. alhaitham does not dispute it. it would not be worth the energy. only kaveh would believe in the existence of a kinder alhaitham when no such man exists; only kaveh could find comfort in it.

instead, alhaitham squeezes back. finger-to-finger, palm-to-palm, their pulses lined as if one, a creature tethered through veins and arteries, two hearts weighing like stone. ]

You should know what it is not. [ alhaitham says, and collects the bleeding red of kaveh's eyes against his palm. he brings their joined hands together, and presses the fleeting warmth of a kiss to his knuckles. ] I am incapable of pity. This is true, even now.

[loans]

[ he is see-through in a way that only alhaitham's eyes can do it. he is seen, he is read, unspoken wonders answered nonetheless. alhaitham is kind. the kiss is warm. it leaves a scar more than it heals his wounds, but kaveh does not shy away from the touch. isn't he used to pain by now? ]

Then, what is it? It is not pity, and you do not see yourself as kind. Why else would you be here, so adamant to hold my hand, so gentle with your touch?

[ the padisarahs, suddenly, do not seem as purple. the sun is hiding behind grey clouds, and it is cold. it's despair given form, and kaveh's reality. ]

Are you, then, Alhaitham created out of my own dreams and wishes? Is that the only way you would be so nice to me? You know that's not true.

[haravatits]

[ alhaitham thinks - that kaveh cannot think of another reason for why alhaitham would hold his hand so gently says more about kaveh than it does about alhaitham. however, there has only ever been one answer to the question that kaveh poses. ]

No, I am not. [ he says, because it is the truth. alhaitham is not a creation of kaveh's dreams and wishes. kaveh's dreams and wishes would not, and should not, include him.

he shakes his head once more. ] Though it is equally true that I am not your Alhaitham, just as you are not the Kaveh that I know.

[loans]

[ an ordinary person would laugh, perhaps, accuse alhaitham's words of being a joke, or say that he has, at last, gone crazy. an ordinary person would dismiss the words, and perhaps a more paranoid one would take them far too seriously.

kaveh, who's not ordinary in the least, finds poetry in the words. this alhaitham is not his alhaitham, for his alhaitham does not hold his hand so gently. his alhaitham does not chase after him as though he will be gone, so soon, in the beat of a heart, the blink of an eye. his alhaitham worries, but shows it behind layers and masks as though a treasure to be uncovered. kaveh always does.

he had dreamed, once, of an alhaitham that had gone mad at kaveh's death. he wonders which alhaitham that would be, if his own would fall to such depravity. ]

What is your Kaveh like, then, and how much does he differ from me?

[haravatits]

[ the padisarahs are dim. the sun sets into monochrome. the eagle continues to soar. a bird's flight cannot be stopped by the changing of flowers or the disappearance of the sun. a bird will continue to fly until it cannot. the world is of no consequence to a bird. alhaitham, having received the question, merely allows his head to cant.

there is a wry crinkle to the corners of his eyes as he breathes out in the way of a sigh. ]

You would ask that of me while looking the way you do. And you assert that I am the terrible one.

[loans]

Is it too cruel a question?

[ despite all, the words and the sentiment, a breathy laugh escapes his throat, for the irony of it all is amusing. there's no surprise in the lack of answer, no. alhaitham, his or not, is still alhaitham. they are all fundamentally him, and kaveh knows alhaitham.

even in a dream, his body succumbs to fatigue, but this time, kaveh finds that the drowsiness is comforting. he should fear for the day to come, whether he will rouse at all, whether he will be able to move his legs or he will be bedridden. here, he thinks, there's no such fear.

the padisarahs and their color, their smell. the sun, and the many colors it paints the sky. the chipping of birds, the flapping of their wings. the way the breeze makes the grass underneath his feet dance. it's paradise. kaveh would not be surprised if he's already dead. ]

Tell me, then. How do you differ from my Alhaitham?

[haravatits]

[ the strength of kaveh's hand shifts. the padisarahs bloom. the sun emerges from its clouds. the dream, alhaitham thinks, is coming to an end. like the coming of a storm, the world shifts in vibrant bloom. one last entreaty to the radiance of a sun, a final celebration of life before the encroaching darkness. above, the clouds begin to sway. above, the eagle angles for a dive.

alhaitham, who only ever has had attention for but one, solitary individual, holds kaveh's hand. gently, he guides kaveh to sit. he is weak. this is paradise, and he is weak. ]

Do men not grow even when the most nominal amount of time has passed? Are you the same Kaveh as you were at the beginning of this dream? I am the Alhaitham you will meet in seven days; if you were to ask what differs between my present self, and my past self, I would assert that it is the time that has passed, and it is the distance I have walked.

Sit. Rest.

[loans]

[ kaveh shoos away the awkwardness that creeps up from the bottom of his stomach, and accepts defeat. his legs are thankful when he finds room to sit on the grass, soft upon touch, and he does not let his hold on alhaitham's hand go. he tugs on it instead, and knows alhaitham will sit with him. time and time again, he would succumb to kaveh's whims, and what harm would there be in this? ]

Then, who is to say I'm not your Kaveh, and you're not my Alhaitham? No matter the time, it will always be like this. 'Kaveh' and 'Alhaitham' exist outside of our reach.

[ it's a comforting thought. no matter what, they will come together, whether kaveh is on his deathbed and alhaitham has barely witnessed the eleazar withering away at his body, or whether kaveh is still ever so full of energy, believing himself to be the exception to the eleazar's curse, only to meet an alhaitham who has seen kaveh fall victim to it, as so many others do. ]

Who's to say we are even 'Kaveh' and 'Alhaitham', really? Rtawahist Darshan is keen on believing in reincarnation. Are we all, then, just victims of a fate we cannot fight against?

[haravatits]

[ kaveh sits, and alhaitham, because he, too, is weak, sits with him. their limbs knock against one another, two men sitting face-to-face, knee-to-knee, ankle-to-ankle, their heads bowed amongst a field of purple. an eagle soaring above would not know where one man began and another ended save for the silver of alhaitham's hair and the gold of kaveh's. to the flowers, however, perhaps they were no different after all. the padisarah scatter so that they are not trodden. they sway with the building breeze, their petals unfurled. a last, profuse bloom.

victims, kaveh says.

alhaitham, who has never believed himself a victim to anything, merely shakes his head. ]

Is that the stance you have taken on, Rtawahist? I see you have chosen to switch to the Darshan you are least suited for.

[loans]

[ kaveh laughs, again, this time weak, and without the same enthusiasm. it's quiet, a breathy laugh, that lasts far too little to be memorable. the mind might even play tricks on them, one day, and argue that kaveh has never laughed at this, no. ]

Were you not the one who took classes from Darshans you were not part of? I may have an area of expertise, but I don't want to be ignorant about everything else that is not taught in Kshahrewar Darshan, you know.

[ besides, he thinks, it's a comfort. when kaveh is bedridden, he would find for books penned by rtawahist herbads on the study of stars, the belief in afterlife, the possibility of reincarnation. there's the idea that life is suffering, and that they will reincarnate time and time again, free themselves of impurities and evil, until the cycle comes to a stop, and they ascend to celestia, free from the endless samsara.

this lifetime, he had just been unlucky. perhaps, in the next one, he would not be born with eleazar, not watch his dreams and hopes and ideals crumble from under him. it makes him inevitable, early death hardly as terrific as many would think. ]

Surely you have read their books. What do you think?

[haravatits]

[ kaveh laughs like a faint breeze. the flower petals shiver for it. alhaitham remembers - the singular focus of each individual darshan, the sheer inadequacy of the exchange of ideas between them, an academic organism that lives only through individual groove-laid tracks along a shifting desert. the akademiya cannot survive in its current shape, but alhaitham has never been interested in the akademiya's survival. he has only ever been interested in the sharpening of his own acuity; if he is to synthesize the information between darshans, then it is enough that he alone can see the brightest way forward.

that had been, however, one other.

kaveh, who sat in that same front row for a rtawahist course that neither of them had registered for just so that he can better argue with alhaitham the principles of utilitarianism. alhaitham lets his thumb skim the outline of kaveh's palm. no matter which kaveh, it seems, the core essence of his audacity cannot be changed. even the eleazar has not robbed him of such. ]

I assert [ alhaitham says, because his beliefs alone have always been enough to unmake and remake an entire world, ] that you are uniquely suited to live in neither in the past nor the future. To be a victim, one must assume recognition of one's victimhood. One must accept the assumption that trauma will shatter your belief of the world as a just and moral place. That is what it means to be a victim.

You speak of 'Kaveh' and 'Alhaitham'. Tell me - are you still Kaveh if you no longer believe in the world? Am I still Alhaitham if I let you do so?

[loans]

[ the answer is very much like alhaitham, and there's comfort in that. he tries, with eloquent and fancy words, to dispel all of kaveh's uncertainties, and time and time again, it works. he has, after all, long lost the energy to argue back. they had, once. bicker, taunt each other, argue about the most mundane of things solely for the sake of arguing, to prove each other wrong, to hold their beliefs close to heart.

are they still kaveh and alhaitham if they do not argue? are they still themselves, if alhaitham is so gentle on his touch, and kaveh loses faith in the world?

he brings alhaitham's hand to his forehead, clings to it with both of his hands. warm. is he truly not a victim of fate? does he not think himself one? is it not cruel that one of the few people who admires the beauty of the world in sumeru akademiya is the one poisoned by it, and fated to die? ]

Tell me then, Alhaitham. How will you stop me once I stop losing faith in the world? What will you tell me, and how will you pull me up from the dark well of despair?

[haravatits]

[ kaveh brings alhaitham's hand to his forehead. alhaitham allows it. how can he not? a rainy spring, a flower pressed within the pages of a long-forgotten book, and kaveh, who had been the first to take alhaitham's hand all those years back. alhaitham does not fully remember the context. the ignition of kaveh's passions have always come without warning nor rhyme - the opening of a fantastic new restaurant, the exhibition of a new work by a promising herbad, the sight of the stars above. but kaveh's hand has always been warm and sure in his. the illness cannot take that away.

so he allows it. his fingers slot between kaveh's. he lets himself be held there.

how will you pull me up from the dark well of despair? ]

Have you not always said that hope is the counter to despair? [ is what alhaitham says. ] I have already given you the solution. I will remember for you the faith you have for the world. I will keep the memory until you are ready to have it again. Is that not hope?

[loans]

[ yes, he has. yes, it is. had this situation been in reverse, an alhaitham plagued by eleazar (archons forbid), an alhaitham who posed him the same question, it's exactly what kaveh would have said: he would give him the hope to believe. it could be a well-crafted lie, in a way. what hope is there for an illness that will consume him, little by little? what hope is there, when they are well aware of what the future holds for them?

kaveh, then, thinks. it is the hope of living every day like it will be his last. that is what it means to have faith in the world he loves so dearly. the sun comes and goes, seasons pass by. time does not stop for anyone. not even kaveh, once light of kshahrewar. ]

Then. [ a choked up start, and kaveh realizes he's shaking. his grip tightens. ] ... It's fine, right? For me to be scared. It's fine if sometimes I feel like everything is just meaningless, right? You— You will be there. To remind me to have hope?

[haravatits]

[ where does a lie begin? does it begin with the lips, forming sound and phoneme? does it begin with the mind, with the first spark of thought? does it begin with intention, the singular flashpoint of momentum? how can the words that are coming out of a person's mouth make untrue reality? and from where does this falsehood arise: the person speaking, the person hearing, or somewhere in between? alhaitham has an answer. it is not, in fact, the answer that kaveh would arrive at. because alhaitham, who has never lied to kaveh, thinks - of course it's fine, because kaveh has lived in fear all his life. because kaveh has believed the world to be meaningless all his life. because alhaitham cannot give kaveh permission for what he has always done; and it so follows that alhaitham cannot give him permission to stop.

his hand curls in kaveh's. their fingers intertwine into their most natural configuration - palm to palm, valley to valley. he brings kaveh's hand back to him, to press first his knuckles to his lips, and then his palm. kaveh trembles, and it's as if the world trembles with him. perhaps it does. the eagle in the sky no longer soars. the padisarahs no longer sway. the world fragments along its edges like silverine stars in a dying galaxy, and alhaitham thinks, this dream will end soon. for kaveh, it has always been a nightmare. for alhaitham: ]

I am here, Kaveh. [ is what he says, quiet and resolute. alhaitham's lips pressed against the warm dip of kaveh's palm, his words hope-made-form, ] I am here.

[ for alhaitham, it has always been a promise. ]

[loans]

[ alhaitham's touch is deadly, he finds. so gentle they feel like a dream in itself, and with each kiss, his skin burns, as though the eleazar rejects it by inflicting pain. as though that kindness is something kaveh is not allowed, because after all, why would he? the illness is, by itself, karma. that he loses all he holds dear is karma. a perfectly crafted nightmare for himself. that is why, he thinks, this still cannot be his dream.

and kaveh, once light of kshahrewar, does not cry for himself. if they were characters in a fictional book, this would be his cue to cry. shed tears of joy, tears of sorrow, tears that would serve as windows to his heart. but he does not cry. the desire is there, to cry at last, to unbottle his feelings and let them all out.

even in this dream, kaveh does not cry. ]

I know. I know. [ because when is alhaitham not? ever since they met, one faithful day in the house of daena, when has his life been without alhaitham?

they would come together, time and time again. find each other even when they did not wish for it. find each other when they did. in the real world, in dreams. alhaitham is there. warm, kind. ] I don't want to wake up.

[haravatits]

[ kaveh does not cry. alhaitham, who has never seen kaveh cry, holds kaveh's hand, and allows him to not cry. alhaitham is not the one dreaming. king deshret dreams of purple padisarahs, and kaveh lives out the consequences. but this dream does not belong to king deshret alone. if it had, alhaitham would have been able to carve the dream from king deshret's head, to reduce it down to its base components and to rip the purple from the padisarahs here. he knows it can be done. king deshret is hardly so omnipotent when forced into the flesh of a man. there is a second dreamer who dreams of the selfsame padisarahs, and that is the one that alhaitham has tasked himself to find.

because he must. because he will. the nexus of dreams will take this, dream, too. the akasha harvests them with the ravenous ease of a predator in spring. alhaitham has no lies for kaveh. he has no more words of comfort. what he can say is this: ]

You will.

[ kaveh will wake up, three days ago. he will have remembered nothing. alhaitham has remembered, and will continue to remember. this is not the first time he had kaveh has had a conversation on hope; this will not be the last. his hand tightens around kaveh's. the sky shivers above them. ]

And when you do, I will find you.

[loans]

[ reassurance. alhaitham has always been good at them, in his own way. oftentimes, he reassures with actions, no words. he gives kaveh a key. he pushes kaveh forward when kaveh takes a step back. he catches him when he falls. he holds his hand, and never lets him forget that alhaitham is there, for him. in the real world, in the world of dreams.

the beautiful purple of real padisarahs is something kaveh has always dreamed of seeing. the outside world is gorgeous, a painting crafted by the gods. the eagles dance in the sky above, the grass is at its greenest. the fish on the lake thrive on clear water. this dream is the embodiment of hope. it is a reminder that life is ever so precious, and that in spite of his own circumstances, kaveh loves it dearly.

his fingers squeeze alhaitham's. ]

I will wait. [ choked up, still. tears do not fall. ] I will always wait. No matter when, or where, or in what lifetime. I will be waiting.

[haravatits]

[ kaveh is waiting. alhaitham knows. it had been winter when that letter from fontaine had arrived by courier. that week, senior kaveh could not be found. not in the lecture halls, not in the kshahrewar studios, not in the study rooms, not in the house of daena. he was not in line for the terrible cafeteria coffee, he was not working by moonlight in his cramped dorm shared with three other people, he was not in the haravatat dormitories, making a sorry excuse out of alhaitham's bed while his hands gestured to life beauties the world still has yet to see. on the sixth day, alhaitham had sat down, and walked himself through the well-worn corridors of kaveh's mind. nowhere that reminds him of his mother's work. nowhere that prying eyes could see. what if they judge? what if they ask? nowhere that would get in the way of other's work, and nowhere that allows kaveh to slack, because even at the height of his grief, the guilt of inadequacy and inaction haunts him. somewhere where he feels free. somewhere where he can see the sky. alhaitham had risen, and walked. he walked from campus to the top of the divine tree. he had parted the leaves near the north-easten skyline. he had said: there you are.

and has it not always been this way? kaveh never hides well. an architect knows nooks and crannies, the hidden paths and the quiet, unnamed rooms never quite finished. if he did not want to be found, he would not be. but kaveh always hides in the way of someone waiting to be found. kaveh, lost in the depths of his own thoughts, spiraling towards an unnamed destination whose darkness even he cannot see. alhaitham, dragging him from his drafting table, a cool hand against the warmth of his temple, until his eyes refocused from a distant, terrifying future to the current, grounded present - there you are. kaveh, fifth day into what should have been a three-day trip, eleazar like spines along the curve of his legs and elbows, curled up in a shelter of stone and sand as he waits out the pain with delirious patience. alhaitham, tearing down the barrier of sand with dendro, prying past the guard runes to shed light into the alcove - there you are. kaveh, nine years old, and in a dream of a empty house, hiding in a cupboard from the hollow echo of that resounding silence. alhaitham, reaching into the nexus, pulling aside the curtains and tracing his footfalls, opening that cupboard with the careful tug of a hand -

there you are.

in no universe will kaveh hide somewhere that alhaitham cannot find. in no universe would alhaitham stop searching. and in no universe would kaveh stop waiting. this is alhaitham and kaveh - this is them. alhaitham's hand squeezes back; one, last pulse of warmth as this world sets. ]

Who are you to speak of other lifetimes, Kaveh? You have yet to live this one. [ we have yet to live this one. ] I will find you. Now - go.

[ the scent of padisarahs - and then, darkness, darkness, darkness. ]

fanfic jumpscare, sorry.....

[loans]

[ darkness, darkness, darkness.

kaveh, who loves colors, who loves the light, once light himself, has learned to accept the darkness, faux as it is. when he closes his eyes, he sees a new world. the blue of the sky is lighter, leaning towards green in pigmentation, but never too much to be out of place. there are no whites in the ocean above, and the sun is always bright, much bigger than it should be, but never hotter. on his skin, it is the perfect temperature, and he does not fall victim to it. the grass is a more vibrant green. the padisarahs are an intense purple. the anemones are not red, but pink, at the height of spring. the rosebushes outside alhaitham's home, vahumana yellow.

it is never dark, not when he's awake and closes his eyes, not when he sleeps, and dreams of an oasis so beautiful it is untouchable, unmoving. he dreams of dances, of calloused hands. he dreams of lives that do not belong to him, and then forgets it all.

he rouses, early. it has been one and a half hours since the sun has risen. there are tears in the red of his eyes, and an emptiness in his chest that suffocates him. kaveh cries, without meaning, without reason, unsure for whom his tears shed. kaveh, who never cries, does so until there is no more tears left to fall. he cries, as though in mourning. he cries for a memory forgotten.

today, his legs work. despite the exhaustion, kaveh follows his routine, for it gives him meaning and purpose. he rises, bathes, makes sure the scales still cover his body, and have not, magically, left somehow. he applies balm onto hands and legs, courtesy of tighnari, dresses himself. if he is not too clumsy with his touch, he makes coffee for two; cream, cinnamon, sugar and milk, for himself. black for alhaitham, who sleeps in his room, just across his own.

today, kaveh does not rouse alhaitham. he leaves breakfast ready, but does not eat. he sets the table (cloth matching silverware, silverware matching dishware, dishware matching the chosen flower of the day, that sits in the middle of the table), drinks his coffee, does the dishes, and leaves for the day. he does not, today, knock on alhaitham's door.

the anemones are red, the trees that decorate and support sumeru, orange. it is autumn, and kaveh, whose body no longer feels the warmth of the sun, or the chill of the autumn breeze, finds solace in the colors nonetheless. the eleazar, at the very least, has not robbed him of this. today, his legs do not feel weak, and kaveh braves a trip down to treasure street. he buys five rambutans, greets those who speak with him and those who do not, and spends the last of his strength to climb the divine tree. he greets akademiya students who wish him a good morning, pays respects to former teachers, politely declines their offer to have kaveh teach at the akademiya again, third time this month alone.

kaveh, who was once seen as the sun himself, ever surrounded by people, does not shine the way they remember, does not offer the same warmth. kaveh, who makes it to a secluded spot behind the sanctuary of surasthana, is often seen by himself, with alhaitham, or not seen at all. kaveh, who sits at last, who eats his rambutan, tries to remember. his dream, the reason his smiles never make it to his eyes today, and what brings him the will to cry. kaveh, who bleeds when cut, and bleeds for other people, whose heart is forever bleeding, does not understand the hole in his chest, and the hollowness of it. kaveh, who bears the weight of guilt and regret, finds his shoulders numb. kaveh, who is always a sunburst, can have his light covered by clouds, too.

kaveh, kaveh, kaveh. even his name, too, has lost meaning.

he sits, eats, mourns, and waits. he has left his heart behind, somewhere he does not recall. it will be found. it will be brought to him, if only he waits. ]