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< title > Zk | 2019-10-02-sariya< / title >
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< p > date: 2019-10-02
2020-06-24 07:10:07 +00:00
title: “ Inktober 2019 #2 - Story and poem courtesy of Sariya” < / p >
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< p > < a href = "/blog/inktober/2019-10-02.jpg.html" > < img alt = "inks" src = "/blog/inktober/2019-10-02.jpg" / > < / a > < / p >
< h3 id = "the-europan" > The Europan< / h3 >
< p > Dim light of distant suns.< / p >
< p > Salt-slush of silent seas.< / p >
< p > Gravity: a tension of sorts, tidal.< / p >
< p > Deep vents, temperature gradients, hot, cold, hot, cold hot.< / p >
< p > Fermentation. Combustion. Digestion.< / p >
< p > It had so many ways to keep going, to stay powered, to stay alive. All those failsafes and backups, redundancies well into the double digits. Piezos, catalytics, photovoltaics, turbines, even a very efficient stomach, all in perfect working order, all ready to snap into action.< / p >
< p > And yet it still prefered the dim light of distant suns to remind it why.< / p >
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< div class = "verse" > The eighteenth whisker on the left is brown.
I know this after countless nights awake
beside you, watching every quiet breath.
You puff your whiskers out on every yawn.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers wilt,
exhaustion softening your features, sleep
exerting subtle gravities to lead
you to oneiric seas and dreamlike sands.
I know this after countless nights awake.
I know, I know, it's strange to watch you sleep,
but when I can't, to know that someone can...
at least it somehow lets me rest in turn.
When I lay beside your sleeping form
I know there's rest to still be had for me.< / div >
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