02-10-2019, 05:55 PM
living for the past
because the future's gone. praying in the dark that you won't go home. i should've said it better, i should've set fire to a letter. but i could run to your apartment, hope i get it started better than before; and i could write it in a poem, pretend i used to know you better than before.
A small part of her wishes she hadn’t come back. If Wishbone had stayed in those endless, wide-skyed strange places outside of Beqanna, she never would have fallen under the biting teeth and red-hot fingers of the infection. Her face would be fuller than the way it is now, narrowed and angular with her cheekbones sharply present beneath her hollowed-out eyes. She would not have had to pick her away across brooks streaked with tendrils of dark blood and pus-colored secretions. She would have been able to avoid the aching hunger paired alongside the dull lack of appetite.
Wishbone also knows that if she had stayed outside of Beqanna, she would never have gotten pregnant. She still hasn’t decided whether the twins are a blessing or a curse — perhaps only their arrival and childhood will determine that. They certainly feel like a curse under the weight of the plague; the symptoms of pregnancy is already heavy enough without the additional symptoms of a fierce infection.
His questions only further recover that piece of her that dances with regret. “I don’t know,” Wishbone admits. “I was born here, but I left a few years ago to travel.” She had seen many things during her time spent away, but Beqanna was always in the back of her mind. Nothing outside of this country ever felt like home. “When I came back, everyone was sick.” Ever since her rearrival, Wishbone has done little investigating. Nerine was soft and quiet during her time spent there, Ivar didn’t speak of the plague in Ischia, and the infection (and her pregnancy) fell upon her so suddenly that she barely had time to explore much past the close vicinity. “We have healers in Beqanna, but I’m not sure who or where they are.” If she knew, she would murder for one right now.
“And where are you from, Loic?”
Wishbone also knows that if she had stayed outside of Beqanna, she would never have gotten pregnant. She still hasn’t decided whether the twins are a blessing or a curse — perhaps only their arrival and childhood will determine that. They certainly feel like a curse under the weight of the plague; the symptoms of pregnancy is already heavy enough without the additional symptoms of a fierce infection.
His questions only further recover that piece of her that dances with regret. “I don’t know,” Wishbone admits. “I was born here, but I left a few years ago to travel.” She had seen many things during her time spent away, but Beqanna was always in the back of her mind. Nothing outside of this country ever felt like home. “When I came back, everyone was sick.” Ever since her rearrival, Wishbone has done little investigating. Nerine was soft and quiet during her time spent there, Ivar didn’t speak of the plague in Ischia, and the infection (and her pregnancy) fell upon her so suddenly that she barely had time to explore much past the close vicinity. “We have healers in Beqanna, but I’m not sure who or where they are.” If she knew, she would murder for one right now.
“And where are you from, Loic?”
@[Loic]