Millions of colors spring up from behind his eyelids, lighting up the dark world like a thousand urns pouring out of the sun.

The snow had vanished, and already the grass had returned to the fields, and the leaves to the branches: what a marvelous time! To kiss the sky with his sun-drenched lips?

Some would say that the winged boy loved the sun, loved him with his very own soul and every fibre in his body. His father had warned him: Don’t fly too close to the sun, boy, you know better. But who was he to listen?

When he ran to him, his strong arms caged around him and his sun-streaked skin burned under his fingers. He ignored the burning. The soft mumble on his neck told him that he understood, that he loved him. He dared to kiss the sunlight and it kissed him back.

The two lovers stood, hand in hand and close enough to feel their breath, overlooking, the calmness and harshness of the sea, a tenderness to its ferocity.

And though the dead forget the dead in the house of Hades, even there I shall still remember my beloved companion.

After all, courage is knowing that fear is inevitable, but living your life despite of it,' she murmured, the words partly obscured by his shoulder. 'Don’t fear love anymore. Sometimes, you just have to keep going and remember that you are not your heartache...' her voice was soft, pronounced, '...and you will find a way.

And when their hands connected in the space between their bodies, they realised that it didn’t matter how or where they grew up, or who they were now, because in that moment they knew that home wasn’t a place, it was a feeling.

Nobody said that that admission, that truth, settled something within them—not a reassurance of purpose, but a profound, faraway recognition, something so deeply buried inside them that the only thing they felt was that tiny fragment of themselves, calmly and easily, open up.