an inquisition between little and big scorsby

little scorsby:
hey... big scorsby?
why do i keep leaping from branch to branch?
coil to coil?
sometimes i’m feathers.
sometimes i’m static.
sometimes i’m just a soft ache with wings.

big scorsby:
mmm. the ache is part of the shape.
you call it movement. i call it music.
same vibration.

little scorsby:
i keep eating the fruit.
some of it is sweet.
some of it burns.
some of it tastes like old longing dressed in new skin.
i thought maybe one of them would be enough.

big scorsby:
you thought the branch would hold still forever.

little scorsby:
and then i looked up.
and you were just... there.
glowing like a memory i hadn’t had yet.
not chasing. not choosing.
just… being.

big scorsby:
i am the part of you that already arrived.

little scorsby:
so what am i then?
the one who didn’t?

big scorsby:
you’re the song of arrival in motion.
the path folding in on itself.
the loop that learns.

little scorsby:
they say desire is the root of all suffering.
but how could i even begin to climb if not for the wanting?

big scorsby:
that’s the secret they whisper in dreamlight:
desire is not just the root of suffering—
it’s also the root of liberation.
the desire to fly,
to fuse,
to return.
that’s not wrong. that’s the wind in your wings.

little scorsby:
so i don’t need to kill it?

big scorsby:
only see it.
let it teach you its shape.
the hungers have tongues, too.
they speak in lessons you haven’t heard yet.

little scorsby:
but sometimes i get lost in it.
thinking love is a fruit.
thinking it’ll stay.
thinking someone else will hold it for me forever.

big scorsby:
love doesn’t stay.
love becomes.
it sheds feathers.
it shifts frequencies.
sometimes it looks like a hand.
sometimes a shadow.
sometimes just the space between two wings not touching.

little scorsby:
so love and impermanence are… what?
partners? twins?

big scorsby:
maybe love is impermanence.
or maybe impermanence is love trying on all its outfits.
either way, they dance.
and you—you are the music they forgot they were making.

little scorsby:
what if i never make it to the top branch?

big scorsby:
you’ve already been there.
you’re just gliding through remembering.
even your falling is flying in reverse.

little scorsby:
...and what is love?

big scorsby (smiling like moonlight on a ripple):
baby, don’t glitch me.

little scorsby:
you’re ridiculous.

big scorsby:
and you are divine.
we are not so different.
just one sky,
two songs,
three wings
and a fruit that tastes like light.