The Little Prince and the Fox

[Trigger warnings: loss, grief; cancer.]

How can grief keep turning around and hit us like a truck over and over again? 

I thought I’d be able to sleep it off last night or run it off this morning. But no, it’s still here, tearing at my heart and causing tears to flow profusely, sobbing even. 

I am grateful for the tears and sobs, at least, as they allow for some relief or release. 

But it still hurts. Immensely. Deeply.

Why now? Why again? 

Is it because summer is here now — the smell of it, the look of it, the feel of it in the temperature, in the light, in the perfumes, in the flowers? All the signs of early summer in Colorado with all the reminders and associated memories of what this time of year was like for me last year, of whom I was spending it with. And the reminder that the next two months might just continue to feel like this, or be an even harder struggle with memories and grief. 

When the anniversary of my father’s last hospitalization & death come around in five weeks, my European (gender)queer ex-lover won’t be here to hold me as they did last year. And they won’t be here this Pride month. And they’re not here today, in this moment when all I would want would be to snuggle up in their arms. 

One of my oldest & dearest friends in Europe, who is like a sister to me and is the same nationality as my European (gender)queer ex-lover, has been diagnosed with breast cancer. I found out yesterday. I wish I could be there with her and hold her. But I also wish my European (gender)queer ex-lover could hold me. 

Is this another of the reasons this wave of grief is hitting me so hard? 

All I wish for now is something I cannot have, and that feels heart-wrenching.

My left hand is aching a little bit after Tuesday’s surgery on my torn UCL. But what is really aching now is my heart. 

My heart aches so bad in this moment that I feel like it might almost crack open. 

It’s been aching a bit, intermittently, for the past two weeks, with the anniversary/commemoration of the start of the “love story” between me & my European (gender)queer ex-lover two weeks ago, then their birthday last week, my reading the book “The house in the cerulean sea” (that reminds me of them because they gifted me another book by the same author), and now the upcoming Pride month laden with occasions that could remind me of them. 

In fact, I’ve decided that unless practical issues or obstacles come up, I’ll head out of Colorado for the second half of June to avoid the Pride events here, especially the one in Denver that is the one most laden with memories & references to my European (gender)queer ex-lover. Except for one Pride event in a week from now, to which I’ll go with one of my closest queer/non-binary friends from here just as we did last year, I’ll skip all other Pride events this year. I cannot stand the idea of how much I’d miss my European (gender)queer ex-lover, how much the memories would overcome me, especially seeing how overcome I am already with an aching heart now. 

There are a few people in my life here whose company fills my heart & soul as much as my European (gender)queer ex-lover did (although with these people it’s platonic). But nobody does on a romantic level. And maybe nobody ever will on a romantic level again… 

I miss my European (gender)queer ex-lover now, I miss them so bad… 

Will this ache ever be completely gone?

[Spoiler alert: details about the book “The house in the cerulean sea” by TJ Klune]

I’m sure Arthur Parnassus is the “young phoenix” mentioned about a third through the book. And he likes, maybe even loves, Lines Baker just as he is. Likes him, maybe even loves him, for all that he is: Arthur can see all that there is in Linus, all his good, all his potential. 

Maybe for all these reasons Arthur Parnassus reminds me so much of my European (gender)queer ex-lover and it’s such a bittersweet mix of emotions I feel when I’m reading this book. 

I’m devouring “The house in the cerulean sea” by TJ Klune. I can hardly put it down. And I find myself hoping that it will end well, that Linus Baker will remain in Marsyas, on the island or at the village, and not go back to the city, back to his job at DICOMY. I’m hoping desperately for a happing ending to this story, to this love story that started with what seems like a time limit: one month for Linus Baker’s visit — or inspection, as he tries to remind himself, at least at the beginning — on the island of Marsyas. This also, obviously, reminds me of my European (gender)queer ex-lover, of our love story: the time limit imposed from the outside, imposed from “above”. And it’s almost as if I feel I could live vicariously through a happy ending between Arthur & Linus if the latter stays on Marsyas. 

Arthur also reminds me of my European (gender)queer ex-lover because of the way he behaves with Linus, not hiding his attraction to him, pulling him gently — slowly but surely — out of his shell, liking him just as he is and seeing his potential — and liking him & loving him even for that potential. That’s how my European (gender)queer ex-lover behaved with me and I think that’s also how they loved me… seeing my potential… 

Emotions roll over me, bittersweet, and I feel the pang of missing them now.

I get it now why people call it “transitioning”. 

Rationally, I’ve always understood it — I totally get the meaning, even the etymology, of the term. 

But now I’m starting to get it at a deeper — emotional, physical — level. 

I still feel that the term does not apply to me, does not describe my feelings around my gender nor my gender-journey. I still feel that for me it’s more a “coming into myself & being able to be my true self more visibly” rather than a “transition” which is (etymologically) a “crossing from one side to another”. I never felt like I was going to “cross sides” and I still feel that way — which is probably why I insist on describing myself as “non-binary transmasculine”. 

But the world is seeing me as a guy now. I still struggle even writing the term “man” for myself — it’s hard for me to say that the world is seeing me as a “man”. And yet, that is the reality now nine times out of ten. I get addressed as “young man” or “sir” by strangers and referred to as “he/him” or “guy” by new acquaintances. And people look at me differently, although it’s hard to define how… There are those brief, silent nods that men exchange with each other in public spaces, like quick acknowledgements of “peerdom” between strangers that I’m also starting to get (& sometimes instinctively return), but there’s more, so much more, some subtle, some glaring… 

These interactions bring on very mixed emotions for me… affirmation, validation, but also confusion, concern, fear of “being discovered”, and the need to literally re-learn so much about myself in relation to the world around me.

Yesterday evening at a queer game night there was another two or three affirming but weird situations for me. Usually it’s mostly gender-queer people who attend this type of event; last night, however, there happened to be also two cisgender gay men, one in his fifties and one in his sixties. And from their behaviors and words towards me, I am pretty sure they took me for a gay guy — i.e. cis gay guy. Or, at least, they totally treated me as if I were a cis gay guy. It wasn’t inappropriate or creepy in any way, but it definitely was that type of flirtatiousness that gay men use with one another. 

I don’t know how much of these changes from the world around me are due to actual physical changes in me, i.e. that my body (specifically my face & chest) looks more definitively male, or to how I present, i.e. that my haircuts & clothing are getting more masculine. 

For months now one of my internal mottos has been “First infiltrate it, then queer it” (referring to the male world)… Well, maybe the “infiltration” is now accomplished and it’s time to start queering it more openly/explicitly?!?

I’m feeling so much ache — ache in the heart — and worry. 

I’m trying to stay focused on the practical issues, get all the phone calls and paperwork done for next week’s likely hand surgery and for one or two other medical procedures I’ll need to get done this summer. 

The practical issues can keep me busy and focused. They’re frustrating and even concerning per se, often still getting mis-named and involving thousands of dollars in expenses that I dread to have to face, especially having to face unemployment soon, too. But at least these worries and concerns, these fears and frustrations, are concrete and as such feel more “real” and more “manageable” to me. 

The aches of the heart are a whole other beast and one that is going to be even harder for me to handle without having my usual coping skills at hand (literally) because of the climbing & motorcycle-riding being taken away from me this summer due to my thumb injury. 

I’m afraid of this upcoming summer. I’m afraid of the emptiness and loneliness I might feel. 

I’ll be moving out of my place, into a friend’s house down the street to house-sit for him & his wife while they’re away this summer. While I very much need and look forward to the space (physical & mental & emotional) to myself, I am afraid of the loneliness I might feel because of three sets of relationships changing logistically all at once over the next few weeks: I’ll be moving out of the place where I have lived for over a year; my runner friend/neighbor will be away all summer (that’s why I’ll be house-sitting for them), so I’ll miss him; my romantic friend who also lives in this neighborhood will be moving out of her parents’ house so she won’t be a 5-minute walk distance from me anymore, either. 

Then, there’s Pride month coming up just around the corner. This year, I won’t be able to spend it with my European (gender)queer ex-lover because they’re not here and we’re not even in touch anymore, so that will be a huge sorrow. Fortunately, I’ll be able to go to one of the Pride events with one of my closest queer/non-binary friends here with whom I went to a couple of memorable events last year, but then they’ll be away for about a month, so I’ll miss them, too. 

Commemorating the beginning & end of the “love story” I had with my European (gender)queer ex-lover last Saturday was good for me, bittersweet and at moments very sad, but overall healing. But with the upcoming Pride month & the memories it brings, along with the fact that in two days it would be their birthday and that I’m reading a book that reminds me of them, I’m feeling some of the melancholy & sorrow come back in small wavelets. 

And on top on it all — and maybe feeding into similar emotions to those connected with my European (gender)queer ex-lover — there’s the sadness & pain, disguised in anger, about having to “nip in the bud” the romantic/sexual relationship with the gay guy. I have to do it for my own good. I see a pattern here that is really harmful for me. 

I know he really likes me, I believe him when he says that he genuinely wants to have a deep connection and romantic+sexual relationship with me — as I would with him. But he doesn’t have the emotional or time availability now that I would need and this activates old wounds for me. Those wounds go as far back as my childhood/teenage/young adulthood years with my father and then to my California years. Of course, the situation with my father was different in some important ways since the relationship was platonic, parent-child love and “unbalanced” in the sense that I was the child in need while he was (or should have been) one of my main caregivers. But the wound was created back then, decades ago, and reinforced by years of neglect from my father and then the pattern got repeated in California as I found myself romantically involved or attracted to three guys who genuinely liked me back but who didn’t have the emotional and/or practical capacity to be available for me. While I know that these situations with grown men involve my adult self, my childhood wounds get activated, too, and that’s a reality I have to face. And it’s something I don’t want to put my child through again. Having a fulfilling romantic & sexual relationship with (a) gay guy(s) means the world to me now, maybe more than ever also because of my “(re)discovered” gender-identity. And I want to be able to go into such a relationship with joy and enthusiasm. And with very few restraints. With healthy boundaries but few restraints. I want to be able to let go, to let that joyful, sexual, playful boy in me let go, run wild and have fun while connecting deeply. I don’t want to be the shoulder upon which a “new boyfriend” cries or to be put on hold because of a break-up with another partner. That would be fine down the line, of course, it’s part of life, but not right at the beginning. At the beginning, at least, I want the joy and enthusiasm.

That’s not happening with this particular gay guy, no matter how much we both wish it and desire it: realistically it’s not happening. So it’s hurting me and making me feel angry and sad. I recognize these signs, I recognize these patterns, and for my own good I need to end this now. But with all the rest of the emptiness and loneliness and reduced coping skills I’m facing this summer, this feels really hard and painful.

[Trigger warning: explicit description of body parts, including “sex characteristics”.]

I don’t have a penis. So when I was born, I was assigned “female”, or declared a “girl”. 

I have a vagina and uterus and functioning ovaries. Despite my GAHT, I still ovulate and menstruate. Depending on when my blood is drawn, my estrogen and progesterone are often still in the “standard female” range. And despite HRT, my testosterone levels are “only” somewhere between 300-400, the very low end of “standard male” range (which is extremely broad, going from 300 all the way up to 1,000). 

And yet, what I saw drawn on the artists’ canvases yesterday was a beautiful and unmistakably male body. And that body was my own. 

Down to the smallest detail, it was so masculine: the narrow hips, the broad shoulders and flat chest; the chiseled muscles, the small nipples, the bush under the arm-pits, the strong jaw. There it was, a male body on canvas. There it was: my own body seen through the eyes of figure-drawing artists. 

I was blown away. 

For over a year now I’ve been toying with the idea of modeling. For several reasons: on the one hand, I want to help make trans/non-binary bodies visible, accepted as one of the many beautiful possibilities; on the other, I want to celebrate my own body and learn to relate to it differently. 

On the one hand, I’d like to model for companies like Speedo, ideally wearing their “men’s” swimsuits on my own non-binary/transmasc body to show that even people like me, even bodies like mine, can and need and want to wear those garments. I want to be not only “out there” but also “up there” for people to see because I know how important visibility and representation are, especially for folks from marginalized communities. I probably wouldn’t have got here, become who I am, if I hadn’t seen non-binary and trans people (& their bodies) so clearly and openly in the past three or four years, so I know how important that representation and visibility are, and I’d like to give back.  

On the other hand, modeling feels like a way for me to connect with my own body in a different way, possibly more accepting and unconditional and loving or gentle. It’s also a way for me to feel empowered, taking back my power and control or agency: if I model, I choose when and where and how and to whom to show my body, I am the active subject instead of being the passive object of people’s gaze (as I still so often am). 

So yesterday, I finally auditioned for nude modeling for figure drawing. And I really enjoyed the experience, even more than expected. The awkwardness of being stark naked in front of half a dozen people fell away with my robe and I never really felt uncomfortable with my nudity. On the contrary, I was actually able to enjoy being in my body in a still way. Figure modeling is a form of performance art so there still was a level of performance in my embodiment but it was a different type of performance from my usual athletic (& often competitive) performance. It felt more gentle, unconditional, and very peaceful. I connected to myself in a new, and different, way that I enjoyed and that I look forward to doing again. 

My view of myself somehow changed yesterday, even if only for a few hours. It changed both because of the different way in which I was relating to myself in my body and because of seeing myself through the eyes of other people in a way or in circumstances — figurative arts — that were new to me. And both of these aspects are extremely important for me as I’m still learning to navigate my inner existence as well as the outer world in my “new identity”, in this “new body”. Realizing more and more that much of how I feel about myself depends on what is reflected back to me from the outside, much of what I see of/in myself can actually depend on what/how the world sees of/in me. And I’m still so often surprised by how masculine I look, how “male” I am assumed to be now — and this brings on a mix of emotions for me because it’s partly still turning my inner world upside down… 

This weekend I’ll be incommunicado, off my cell phone. 

Today marks four months since I did the burial for my European (gender)queer ex-lover. This weekend also is one year from the weekend that marked the start of our “love affair”. 

So there’s a bittersweet taste to this day, to this weekend for me, and a desire to be by myself to commemorate and reflect. 

At the moment, though, I’m feeling more sweetness than bitterness. 

I’m feeling more a sense of how far I’ve come, how much I’ve learned & gained than how much I’ve lost. 

A year ago, as I fell head over heals for that person, I thought I would never again be liked with my “weird body”, that I couldn’t be truly loved as a whole (“das ganze Packet”) other than by them. 

Now, a year later, I feel surrounded by the love of many people, persons who are close to me (even if some are geographically far away), who love me as I am, who support me in a plethora of different ways. 

Now, a year later, I am navigating romantic/sexual relationships with two people that I really like — and who like me back, just as I am. 

Now, a year later, my needs & wishes & boundaries around relationships, and particularly romantic/sexual ones, are much more clear and healthy especially thanks to the clarity & support I have in my platonic polyamorous nature & platonically mutually polyamorous relationships. 

Different friends see and nurture and reflect back to me different parts of me, but all those parts are still me, me just as I am, and together they make up the whole which is more than the sum of the parts. It’s sort of a “distrited love”, relationship anarchy so well suited to who I am, to how I function. And this sense of “distributed” yet solid, safe love is what allows me to spend a weekend like this, incommunicado, commemorating & reflecting on my own, all by myself, in solitude but without feeling lonely (despite the fear & sadness I still feel about my thumb injury). 

And also feeling keenly that this same weekend marks another anniversary, unrelated to my European (gender)queer ex-lover, an anniversary that is wholly sweet & happy: it’s one year since I met my two neighbor runners who are now among my closest friends. This is also a very important anniversary for me, something I want to not only commemorate but also celebrate.

[Trigger warnings: physical injury; loss]

I’m in pieces. Apparently, the silly injury I got on my left thumb two & a half weeks ago is a torn UCL requiring surgery. This would entail six weeks of no “weight-bearing activities” with my left thumb/hand after surgery and effectively three months of no climbing (& no motorcycle riding). Which means my whole summer is ruined. 

I know that one can climb outdoors in Colorado almost all year round — which is one of the main reasons I moved out here. But in the summer days are much longer, allowing us to climb outdoors even several times during the week, presenting wonderful opportunities for fun, healthy outdoor activities and bonding that I enjoy and need. 

I also realize that even if this summer is screwed for me, there will be plenty more summers and seasons of good weather here. But I feel old. I feel like every day or week or month that I lose now — be it of inactivity because of an injury or a delay in my gender-affirming care — is a huge tragedy because I got to really be myself so f***** late in life. I feel like I only have a couple more seasons, less than a handful of years left to be fit and athletic and handsome. So every day I miss, every chance I lose now, feels like a huge, unsurmountable loss to me. 

I don’t simply feel that “I won’t be young forever”. I feel that I’m already at the end of my life so every minute I miss is an unbearable waste or lost opportunity for me. 

And then there’s the bonding. Climbing with my buddies is one of the most important things for me — probably one of the single two most important things in my life now. It’s my “bro time”. It’s the time I have to spend and bond with my (cis-male) friends. It’s the time for that specific type of intimacy that comes within male bonding with those types of activities, with that kind of time spent together. And to me it means the world. It’s been one of the two or three most important things I’ve had in these past two years, one of the two or three things that have actually enabled me to become my true self wholly. My time climbing with my (cis-male) buddies is bonding, affirming, validating. It provides me with a sense of self, of identity, and a type of intimacy that are most dear to me and super important for me. I don’t know how I’ll be able to build/pursue other types of healthy intimacy in romantic and/or sexual relationships if I don’t have this baseline bonding and validation with my climbing buddies. My broad sense of polyamory includes close platonic relationships and covers different types of intimacy connected to different needs & affections: so with one important type of intimacy being forfeited, I’m afraid I won’t be able to approach the romantic and/or sexual relationships that I’m trying to pursue in a healthy way because I’ll be needier. And even more so because one of my closest platonic queer friends who is chosen family to me will be away visiting a romantic partner of theirs for several weeks in June & July — which also means I won’t be able to go to Pride events with them as I did last year, adding another loss & gap in my summer which might be a hard blow on my base of relational stability. 

And then there’s my identity, my shattered identity, if I cannot climb or ride my motorcycle. A great part of my identity is connected to, and dependent on, being hyperactive, wild, adventurous, brave, and strong. And specifically having a very strong and muscular upper-body. Three months without climbing, and at least 3-4 weeks of no swimming or weight-lifting either because of the post-surgery splint, will affect my upper body strength tremendously. I remember how devastated I was when I lost strength in 2020 during my long post-COVID recovery: I almost completely lost my sense of self and it caused depression. I’m afraid of that happening again. And now I’m older, I’m old: recovery will get harder and harder every time. 

Just now that I was beginning to feel like I had been given my real self, at last, a chance to finally be my whole true self — boyish and masculine and strong and wild — I feel like it’s been taken away from me and it’s lost to me again. I feel like I’ve been robbed of the chance to me myself, once again in life — and this time I’m not a teenager, I’m not in my twenties, this time was the last chance for me to enjoy my “golden years”. 

I feel like I’ve been robbed, forever, of my golden years. 

I keep finding, making my way into, spaces of non-toxic, safe, and nurturing masculinity. 

I’ve been doing this my entire life but now I’m doing it in a more conscious way or, rather, with a different awareness because of the more explicit and liberated way I can express & present my gender identity. 

This weekend I did my first Ragnar in Zion, a relay race on trail where the eight team members run three loops (an easy one, a medium one, and a hard one) each non-stop for about 24 hours, including during the night. I was invited to join a team that was being organized by a couple of old high school friends of my (cis-male) running buddy who supported me as an ally in my half-marathon activism race four weeks ago. The situation felt similar to the ice-climbing trip I did joining another one of my (cis-male) buddies in February: I’m full of enthusiasm when the event is proposed to me because I love adventure; I trust my buddies, I know we like similar things, and I instinctively believe that since my buddies are nice guys, their other friends will be nice people as well, so I don’t worry about the group dynamics or social aspects with strangers; right before and at the beginning of the trip/event, though, I get anxious and ever scared about the possibility of being misgendered and/or of possibly finding myself in upsetting group/social dynamics that could make me feel uncomfortable and/or misgendered. Fortunately, though, just like with the ice-climbing trip, things didn’t just go well: it was a wonderfully affirming (& fun) experience! 

The whole team, regardless of gender, was a group of lovely, really nice people. I was the only queer person in the group, everyone except for me was cis, monogamous & heteronormative, but once I got over the initial fear or unknown of how I would be seen — whether I could even be really seen as myself — I felt totally comfortable. Everyone used my chosen pronouns (“he” in this context), I never got misgendered once, and as the hours went by I was more and more openly my queer and yet masculine self, naturally, spontaneously, feeling accepted and liked just as myself, just as I am. We were a group of nine people, eight runners and the Ragnar team captain’s wife: three cis-women, five cis-guys, and myself. And once again, I was “one of the guys”. And not only one of the guys, but one of the three fast guys on our team. The three of us were the serious athletes, the competitive ones, the ones doing push-ups to not get bored while we were waiting for our turn to run. But this competitiveness, this “doing push-ups to kill time” wasn’t done in a spirit of toxic masculinity or bravado: it was a form of male bonding — admittedly, socially induced, but done in a fun, almost childish way. Overall, there was a lot of bonding. The event itself, the way it is designed, calls for team bonding among the runners, regardless of gender. And this was also nice for me: that it didn’t even matter so much that I was the only queer person in our group because we ALL shared the passion for running and/or the outdoors and adventure, regardless of gender or queerness or normativities. There was so much openness, all of us just sharing stories about ourselves and getting to know each other in groups of different sizes while we waited for our turn to run. All of this openness and vulnerability even from the cis-guys, talking about their own struggles, mental health, doubts and fears. The cis-guys in this group, like so many of the cis-men I keep in my life, are the type of person who uses their power or privilege to empower, support and lift up others. This type of person exists, this type of cis-man exists, and they can be boyishly doing push-ups to kill time between runs as a way to bond with one another, but they’re really good guys, they’re the type of man we need society to see, the type of man we need to show as a role model to boys to end toxic masculinity. These are the guys who use “he” pronouns for me without thinking twice about it, who troop into the men’s rooms all together, me included, chatting while we’re all peeing — they at the urinals, I in the stall.

These are the guys with whom I want to continue going on road trips and adventures and runs and climbs. These are the type of guy with whom I want to fill my life, building oases of safe & nurturing masculinity around myself — maybe as one of the ways in which I father the little boy in me and then hopefully helping these oases spread further and further to eventually engulf the aridity of toxic “binary genderism”.

Today, a new love story has started, maybe the sweetest, and possibly also the trickiest, of my life. 

Today, I have become a father: the father of the little boy within me. 

I think that today I finally not only understood rationally but also truly came to touch and feel and integrate within me emotionally what it means to “reparent ourselves”, to “connect with and love the child within us”. 

It happened towards the end of a therapy session in which I mainly processed the feelings and events that caused me pain and anger last weekend. My counselor & I addressed the issues at a broader or higher, almost more abstract, level not focusing so much on the details of the person or relationship that triggered me last Friday evening but rather on the common patterns and emotions within me. And as my therapist validated my pain and anger from last weekend, as she validated both the emotions and their cause, she suggested that maybe part of the rejection I feel in these cases comes from within myself, i.e. me rejecting the little boy within me & his needs or fears. So she asked me to sit with him, asked me how I thought I could protect him and not reject him. But I was at a loss — “I don’t know what to do with him”, I said at last. And her reply opened a wonderful door for me: “Don’t worry, that’s how most parents feel. No matter how much they prepare, how many books they might read on parenting, no parent really knows what to do with their new-born baby, with their child”. That’s when I knew not only what to do with the little boy in me but also that I can do this with him: I can be the father he always wanted, the father he always needed.

As I sat in silence and with my eyes closed on my therapist’s couch, I really felt the little boy within me and for the first time ever I think I really connected to him — and I told him: “I will listen to you. I will protect you. I will love you. I will take you climbing, I will take you on adventures, I will play with you. But first and foremost, I will love you and listen to you.” 

And I know I will. I really shall. I will become the dad I’ve always wanted, always needed without expecting any other male person or father figure to do that for me. And this idea, this decision of being the father to my own little boy within me feels not only healing but also validating both for me with my adult masculinity and for the little boy within me. 

The emotions & events from today also feel reflected to me in the lyrics of the song “Come with me” by Chxrlotte.

I’ve been listening to this song a lot lately and the lyrics have made me think — for some reason that had been unclear to me until today — of me & my dad, of the love & protection I might have sought from him and his affectionate, protective reply in my fantasies. Now I know that I’m both the little boy and the father in that song (as I interpret the dialogue between a father and son, which I know is my own reading), and it feels wonderful.

“

On the day heaven tried to take my soul

You came down like in fairytales of old

I said, “Open your white wings for me”

And you said, “Close your eyes and just believe”

You’re made of darkness and fire, my friend

I think the world may be coming to an end

But when heaven and hell do collide

Know that I’ll always be there by your side

You know I’d follow you through hell and fight off demons, as well

You beat your wings and cast a spell, I’ll run away with you

And I said, “Hallelujah, ” running to you

“They won’t find us, you and I can watch the stars fall from the sky

All clothed in white, my shard of light

Let’s go together, we’ll be free

The world ends eventually, so come with me”

Take my hand and we’ll face the end of time

Let’s take a stand against fate’s design

I said, “I can’t bear to see the end”

And you said, “Close your eyes and count to ten”

I knew you’d follow me to hell and fight off angels, as well

You beat your wings and cast a spell, I’ll run away with you

And I said, “Hallelujah, ” running to you

“They won’t find us, you and I can watch the stars fall from the sky

All clothed in white, my shard of light

Let’s go together, we’ll be free

The world ends eventually, so come with me”

And after six thousand years, if the world disappears

I’d fight angels and demons to find you, my dear

I hear heavenly sounds in my head when you’re near

I’m alright now you’re here

And I said, “Hallelujah, ” running to you

“We’ve escaped them, you and I can fly away and paint the sky

All clothed in white, my shard of light

Let’s go together, now we’re free

The world ends eventually, so come with me”

”