The sun climbed up to its celestial throne, painting the horizon a fiery crimson. Everything was slowly but steadily brought to life and a new day began. A gentle morning breeze was blowing, and thus the waves had abated to a subtle trickle.

Sitting at my usual position, eyes following the patterns small fish roaming underneath the surface created, listening to the almost lyrical sound of water licking rock. Whispering to myself nonsensical thoughts tormenting the mind. If only that erratic female would reappear today. If only I had the chance to see her again. If only she wanted to see me again.

And reappear you did. That same afternoon, while I was gazing at the seagulls peacefully floating above the unmoving azure, your voice, that voice I would hear so often from that moment and on -metallic and enervating but so deeply beloved- came to my ears from somewhere behind. Like a stalled robot, I automatically veered towards the source, and saw you. Waving enthusiastically, clumsy limbs jolting to every possible direction; however, not once in my life had I seen so much grace.

To... me? Was it me? No. Of couse, I should be wrong. Couldn't be. Me, disliked and marginalized and loathed by people -nah, never.

I only figured out that it indeed was me the one you were gesturing at, when rough footsteps echoed, getting louder and louder -footsteps of someone fast approaching. Upon turning my face I met with the beauty of the world, and nothing in the Universe was going to be the same anymore.

You showed me a picture -one you had created the night before, after returning to a place you called a "home". It depicted that revolting man constantly staring through the water surface, and it vaguely occured to me that all these years I had been seeing my reflection. Strange thing that simple thoughts like that only come to your mind when you are not alone. Anyway, I stammered that it was great and realized that it made you happy.

You had also given it a title, The Wave Gazer. And after that, bashfully confessed you didn't even know my name.

My name. Peculiar thing, of all information regarding who I was and what my roots were, the only piece that never faded from my memory was the name. Project Shadow. At that moment, though, my lips only formed the word "Shadow", because I could faintly recall that the word "project" used to raise suspicion amongst people from your race.

Conversationally, it that cheerful manner of yours one could only adore, you remarked that it was a "rare" and "amazing" name, and added that yours was Amy.

Amy. After you left, back at that night, I explored the beach, examining the colorful stuff people had -as always- forgotten behind. A few minutes later my hands were carrying what I wanted; a cylindrical stick like those you used to carry, and a scrap of the thin, white substance you had called "paper."

Surprisingly, I still remembered how to write, even though keeping my right hand stable proved itself quite a difficult task. A minute later, your name had been formed on the white material, so I folded it with caution and cherished it in the pocket of my worn leather jacket -the one covering the part of one's torso where the heart is supposed to be.

Kept it there forever after, until paper, name, fabric and heart became one entity. Kept it there until today.

Anyway, back to my narration. Not much detail to remember after that incident, sadly. The few next days a total blur, with your presence lurking somewhere nearby, island of hope amidst the oceans of my inner desperation. Think I had told you some lies, based on the very few experiences from the times when I belonged to the world of humans that hadn't yet been erased from my memory. Worked hard for the GUN -although I couldn't remember what those three letters could possibly mean- , tried to sustain peace and tranquility in the city. Had lost the woman I loved due to a tragic accident. Enough information for me to become someone worth talking to -a real person with a life back there.

I insisted that we only met there, in front of the endless sea we both seemed to like so much. You didn't protest. Probably found it exciting -having a place completely to ourselves, something to call "our spot".

Next thing I know, we 're chatting, daydreaming, laughing together with petty things, gazing at the stars, trying to detect all the visible constellations from our hemisphere. Remember how you once told me that, when a small star dies, an explosion happens and flares the sky like a firework, leaving behind the dust we're made of. Even as I recall it, this line brings a smile to my lips. Everything is made of stardust. No matter who created me, I come from the cosmos' black entrails, just like all of you do.

Then, one night, your eyes delved into mine, the reflection of the moon an unearthly sparkle within their depths. Something deep inside of me exploded and filled every acre of the flesh with a familiar warmth. If anything, I could still understand what this meant, so my lips moved repeatedly, but no sound would be produced, and then words failed us both. Senses in overdrive, external signals unintelligible. The feeling of your hand that had clenched tight around mine came remote to the mind, spreading a burning sensation through me.

And then, just then, with the melody of the ocean filling my ears, with the image of the moon through your insanely green eyes still projected underneath my shut eyelids, with a million questions piercing through my heart, I leaned in, and brushed my lips against yours.

Yes. You loved a gun. But you 'll probably never be able to even suspect how much the gun loved you.