Once upon a time, when there was Nothingness in the world but the moon, two stars, a floating stream of water, and a wide expanse of blue-black sky glimmering with lights from the netherworld, I was born. And I was special because I was born in Nothingness, with only the moon, two stars and a floating stream of water to attribute my existence to. But nobody truly knows me.
But let us pretend that somebody does. We can pretend that the moon fell in love with me when he first saw me, so he gave me some of his light to make the highlights in my hair glimmer like bio-luminescent algae. The two stars of Nothingness bestowed upon me a body of glowing energy, a lithe, silken form as soft as spun gold, as fluid as a changing body of water, with beautiful hands and feet shot through with fiery red lines. And the floating stream of water granted me the power of song and speech, although in Nothingness, there was then no such thing as song and speech.
So I remain. Silent of song and speech. A billion things of reflection in my spun headiness, rolling on the grass of Nothingness, my arms wide open waiting to receive what I knew not to receive. A lift-off and I have no Name. I am tied to pain and there is a hollowness in the recesses of what should be a Heart. Burn me down, I think. My image reflected is all that I will ever see. And on the billionth night of my existence, I will see his eyes. And know that I love him, because there is an ache almost too glorious to bear, although I have no way to fathom what he is. Only those eyes that will peer at me from the hooded lids of the blue-black sky, and his beams ever wrapped around me, showing but never saying, how much he loved me. And how he loved me from the depth of his blackened Nothingness, from the darkness of his Soul, a kiss as soft as cotton-wool and I fall into rapture. I, of Nothingness.
And when my memory is hardened, and I croak Song and Speech, and I am stripped of all things that make me, he remains.