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Panchromatic afterglow

I got to talk with Darkside today, in two little snippets: at work, on break, for four minutes, and then just now (8:55pm or so) for another nine.

Talking with him really makes my day brighter. I was grinning like a fool after talking with him on the phone in the supervisors' break room (so much quieter and more private than the phone goons' break room, though I like the phone goons' break room because I have friends there) and that got me through the rest of the shift. Then I got home and called him again, and was stunned for some minutes afterwards. He's so very warm and caring, and the thought that he becomes like this for me is overwhelming.

He has the stubbornness of Miles, the reserve of Gregor, the cunning of Illyan, the patience of Ekaterin (a lot, but only so much, and then Action!), the crankiness of Ista, the loyalty of Ivan, and the capacity for kindness and love of Cordelia. You know he's got to be a good one when I have to refer to several Bujold heroes to describe his virtues. (Though I wonder if he'd consider his stubbornness, crankiness, and reserve as virtues.)

Our voices got softer, more intimate, as we chatted. I'm not sure what would have happened if we'd been in the same room. Perhaps we wouldn't have had the nerve to keep talking, and lapsed into that charged silence that precedes the unthinkable being contemplated, the unforeseeable scryed out.

As it was, we were nearly whispering by the time we bade each other a good night. The touch of his voice like that is almost like the brush of his hand against my face.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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