The Strangest Things

You lay beside me in the warm soft bed. The window is open and the fresh air perfumes the room with the cool wet smell of a field after a summer rain. You lay beside me, your body echoing the figure of mine. We lie on our sides, the bedsheet half-covering our bodies. You rest your arm on top of mine and lean your head into my neck. You whisper to me of beautiful, the most exquisite things I've known. You speak of ages long ago, before man was jaded, before emotions were sold. You spoke of gods and goddesses, of lightning and thunder, and of the softest whisper of a poppy in bloom. You told me of the journeys of butterflies and of stars and their origins. You spoke of crowns of snow and scepters of sunlight, ornaments of stars, and velvets of night. You spoke of the most amazing beautiful things that a mind could conceive. You held me against you and whispered softly into my skin:
"You're beautiful."
And there I was, in your arms, the saccharine idol of your heart, the shard of crystal carnage, my soul in the company of your crowns and poppies, lightning and stars, the divine beauty the world could barely hold. I was in there, in your mind, among them, something beautiful.
It was then, in the silent night, that I told you that I wanted to die. You asked me in confusion, why? I explained that because it was at that moment, my pinnacle, my penultimate, my euphoria, my nirvana, my moment of true happiness occurred. Here, enveloped in your arms. Here, surrounded by beauty in your mind. My world could never improve from here.
I felt you smile gently into my hair and kiss me gently on the cheek.
"You say the strangest things." you told me as you started to drift into sleep.
I wrapped your arm around me tighter and stared through the open window at the stars in the night sky, like diamonds set onto black velvet. It was beautiful. I knew I was among them, to you. I touched your cheek gently and let myself drift.
Sometimes, I say the strangest things.