Two souls underneath a black night, cold concrete beneath, and a freezing river far below. Our souls face troubles of their own, and our bodies shiver in the cold and with the nerve it takes to release a small amount of our very selves. But here, I am warm by your side, and my starry tears are a comfort as they reflect the twinkling sky and bring life back into my cheeks. The stars were guardians and intent listeners that night with you. And the chill of the air was our agent; as the flumes of incense will carry prayers to the highest heavens, so the wind would take our breath and transform it into misty whispers, whisking them away to the lights of the sky. Now if those prayers (unrecognized as so) were mighty enough, do you think it possible that those listeners became messengers? For as we lay shivering, we also were shaking under the weight of the universe, and as one star would flee the sky, it was as if our burden grew lighter and each wispy sigh of sorrow became instead a stream of laughter, lifting our spirits and brightening the sky above us.
And here. This was my moment of revision.