Now listen to the end

Before the world knew grief or love was something people survived, one walked through death as if it were weather. Carrying music in his heart, a pen that drew fire, words sparking in the dark. He wasn’t born powerful - love remade him that way. And pain. When his wife was taken by the deadly snake of chance, dragged into the underworld, a part of him died. This is the story of a love so mighty, it forced open the gates of hell.

He descended. In search for her. Distance carved a room in him so wide, he wouldn’t survive his own echo. Not without her small, cold hands. He walked places that don’t permit return: galleries of grief, darkness held together by dead hope, bearing two hearts in one soul.

The gods agreed to the impossible: bring her home, but do not turn. He didn’t. Until she said his name - soft, like the sky says rain, a breath just before teardrops. She said it with memory and longing, tenderness only lovers know. And when love calls, he answers.

His hand reached for her as she lifted a finger: not toward him, but against. Here is your sin: you survived without me. Spoke of me in doubt. You wielded pen and word like a god - but I don’t remember faith. Hell swallowed her again. Every part of him capable of loving - tore loose with her

They say the one who returned was a shadow without a home. This drawing is their child, destined to outlive them both. Strangers will warm their hands on it someday, never knowing whose winter made it. I was the one that didn’t leave you behind. Turned when you called, broke when you withdrew.

My mouth is lonely without you, so I sing. These hands are empty without your touch, so I gave them a pen. And when they ask how far I went:

I carried godfire barehanded. Burned a path through the sky. Crossed hell barefooted Loved deeper than an ocean. Murdered gods in your name. Lost everything I was. And still I reach.

I am Orpheus and my last breath will still carry your name

When the little cabin in the woods is rotting, when flowers grow on the ash of our remains, even the moon forgets our names. Our song outlives us. A song of you and me and..

a love brighter than the stars