This world hums at your presence,
For like things resonate in soft, susurrate sounds while all else fades.
This world is damaged and beautiful
Beaten by the men on its surface and haunted by those long since gone
With scars and with secrets and subtleties buried
With an aching aloneness hid deeper yet, still
But so gracious and warm and eager to help.
To save.
To support.
While whole stretches of void hold it away from its kin.
These voids are safety.
Protection.
It knows what it needs, doesn’t it?
Separate and safe, blooming only for those held so close as to not lose them
But never close enough to reach its core.
Blooming with color, with life, with song
In moments, nothing but a collection of seconds, of minutes,
A bundle of time and feeling.
Regret. Fear. Sorrow.
Trust and hope.
Pirouetting around the sun.
Listen to the humming.

Listen.