Like a bolt 'cross the sky, my love comes to me. Saving my thorax one last time. There's no sound when his ship crackles into view on the failing screen. I can't help but to smile when I see the lights blinking on and off. A code only he and I know. He’s screaming at me to send a message back, but my communications are down. If I could I’d call him my “lightbulb butt”, even though I know he hates that pet name. He’d make some comment about not hearing me, with my mandibles always so full of fabric, and then we’d both be angry. What I wouldn’t give to hear the pleasant buzz of his voice again.  

I shouldn't be here, but I couldn't stay away. His light kept pulling me back. Blinking in time to his heartbeat. Synced to my failing life support systems. It may be vanity talking for me, but I'd rather he not see me like this. Bent antenna and broken wings. Half my fluids are floating in zero g and the other half sloshing uncomfortably in my abdomen. This wasn't the way I pictured our reunion. But I suppose seeing him at all will be worth it. 

My ship isn’t designed to zip through the asteroid belt like his. I don’t have the same particle drive that lets him convert his ship’s mass into light. Striking effortlessly between the points of the asteroids, safe from harm. I tried my best to maneuver my own ship through the shifting patterns of asteroids, but all it took was one wrong turn to end up smashed and drifting. I even synced my antenna to the ship’s sensors for a better sense of where I was going, for all the good that did me. 

Even so, I’m glad I did it. I couldn’t leave our relationship as a fling. And no matter how much he told me otherwise, I know he cared more than he could let on. It’s easier to leave when you can convince yourself that it’s not serious. I’ve been there myself. So he left for a star system that he was sure I couldn’t follow him to. Well, I’ve proved him wrong, at the least. It’s a small comfort.

A red light blinks on and off in my peripheral vision. Another warning for me to secure my damaged hull or the reflection of the back of his head as he gets out of bed? It’s hard to pinpoint between the waves of pain and weightlessness. Difficult to keep lucid when my body has been put through so much. My wings, or what’s left of them, twitch impotently behind me as I struggle to reorient myself. I can feel the ship moving and I’m getting closer to something very far away. As my ship slides into position I see shiny black wings close around me. The color is familiar and yet alien, like the sky with too many stars.  

My vision blurs. Perhaps when I next wake, the first light I'll see will be him, frowning down at me. That would be nice.