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[howtheyshine]

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[howtheyshine]

Edwin wishes, powerfully, that he could share with John the way that makes him feel in the same way that he could share it with someone else, someone with a physical body. The warmth inside, the safe glow that is John and Jedao's influence in particular on Edwin's internal landscape. "Have you written poetry?"

Another question, one he's been wanting to ask but has been shy about and now just wants the chance to do again. "Can ew paint together when I get out? Can yoo teach em?"

[greatoldjohn]

"I have," he admits, though he hasn't shared it with anyone. He's waiting for the right moment. It hasn't quite come yet.

"And of course, though I don't know how much I would 'teach' you. I can tell you what I've learned, though."

[howtheyshine]

"Iwish I had my poem book."

Maybe he could try to write something while he's stuck instead of just sitting here for hours on end in the quiet by himself, trying not to think about how much he misses being in the world.

[greatoldjohn]

"Do you need me to bring it over?"

[howtheyshine]

"I don' t haveone here."

He's too embarrassed to admit why.

[greatoldjohn]

"Would you like me to recite some for you?"

[howtheyshine]

"Yes!"

[greatoldjohn]

He pauses to consider, and then-

"The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and trees;
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes,
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky.
Who would "go parading"
In London, "and masquerading,"
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is!"

[howtheyshine]

There's a brief silence, then:

"I want to see earth with my own eyes. Touch things and hear things."

[greatoldjohn]

"I'm sure you will," he says quietly. "Maybe even our next port."