I can see a dimly rainbow-lit bridge.
I can see us, wearing yesterday.
I can see a middle-aged architecture alley, with gargoyles staring at us.
I can see the whole place wondering aloft a cloud, right next to me.
I can see a bench, two lovers, and a blinding light that I mistake for the sun.
I can see galaxies exploding in her eyes.
I can see stars collapsing, others being reborn, deep down in her eyes.
I can see valleys covered in ice, with a raging fire underneath.
I can see the shadow of the universe, trapped in her eyelids, hymning our story.
That’s what I can see today, and it feels like I haven’t seen anything yet.