and all of us, we’re meant for the fire, but we keep rising up and walking the wires
In this moment, so soft and sweet, she is out of her element.
She can feel it, the way it exists on the outside of her peripheral, her being entirely unequipped to deal with the well of emotions that rises in her chest, clogging her throat. There are thoughts that play along the edges, threatening to form into words on her tongue, but she chokes them down. She’s not ready to admit the way she feels about him. She’s not ready to share that with him. She’s not ready to tell him about the way this has opened up something soft and vulnerable within her, and how scared she is that she won’t ever be able to hide it again—how delicate it feels, swathed in the golden light of his joy.
Instead she closes her eyes as she feels his lips trace over the edges of her shoulders, leaning into him if only because her limbs have gone heavy and the blood in her veins has turned syrupy. She is hollowed out and she wonders at what will flood into the new cavern. Will this change her? Will she wake up tomorrow with the same buoyancy? Will she run from this? Will she harden herself in response?
She doesn’t know.
Can’t know.
Instead, she lets herself loosen her grip on her gift and slips into the warmth of his thoughts, letting his own pleasure flood through her, loosening her already relaxed muscles. There is trust in this moment, as she drops her head and leans her cheek against him, breathing the scent of him in deep. “I know,” is all she says. Two words that speak to the cruelty she’s seen unfolded in the minds of others. Two words that speak to the reality of the world that is never far from her. “I’m glad this was done right.”
She is glad it meant something. She is glad it was with him.
Quietly, so quiet he may not even hear it, she whispers into him, “I’m glad it was with you.”
lynx