By Jonathan Peters Copyright ©2026 My eyes. Purple-blue like a sad, dark ocean. Your eyes. Grey like the sky before a rain after a long drought. That first meeting. Must have been an age ago. Interior cabin lights were on when we met. All lights faded when we departed. Things end. Even stars. Time doesn’t mind itself. A twelve-hour flight to Peru, interrupted by a child kicking the back of my seat. Turning, irritated. “Hey!” I shouted. He stopped quick. Then I heard a snort.