01-26-2020, 11:46 PM
i said i told you everything, but i left something out
She remembers so little. She feels like a ghost even though she knows she isn’t.
She can feel her heart as it beats in her chest – steady and never-ending, and sometimes she wishes it would just stop. It feels loud; loud in her ears, loud in her veins, loud in her head. But maybe that is just because everything else is so very quiet. Solitude could drive you mad; she knew that. The dark and the quiet, it could breed insanity in your mind, but for some reason she doesn’t remedy it. She waits for it, thinking that maybe living the rest of her life out of touch with reality would be just like dying; or maybe like dreaming.
It never happens, though.
She remains consciously aware of the dark, and the quiet, and the solitude. She blinks her eyes open every day into the dark forest, so far away that not even the wildlife goes there. It is just her, and her thoughts, and the broken shards of a tattered heart that stutters and pulses, unfailing, every day.
Today, the meadow draws her out like a magnet. She follows the light like a moth to a flame, she blinks at the brightness of it and has to duck her head to shade her eyes. And it’s loud. Has the meadow always been so loud? Every voice is jarring, the sounds coming together in a deafening chorus that makes her want to turn around and disappear again.
Until, she sees him.
She sees him, and her eyes lock with his and that stupid heart of hers that never stopped doing its job, finally stalls in her chest.
“Kensley,” she breathes his name, and she isn’t even sure if he could hear it. He looks different; she can see it from here. He is broken and cold and distant, and though he smiles his eyes remain shadowed by ghosts. She steps to him, and when her muzzle touches his skin she is surprised at how cold he feels, and her heart twists. “What happened to you?”
She can feel her heart as it beats in her chest – steady and never-ending, and sometimes she wishes it would just stop. It feels loud; loud in her ears, loud in her veins, loud in her head. But maybe that is just because everything else is so very quiet. Solitude could drive you mad; she knew that. The dark and the quiet, it could breed insanity in your mind, but for some reason she doesn’t remedy it. She waits for it, thinking that maybe living the rest of her life out of touch with reality would be just like dying; or maybe like dreaming.
It never happens, though.
She remains consciously aware of the dark, and the quiet, and the solitude. She blinks her eyes open every day into the dark forest, so far away that not even the wildlife goes there. It is just her, and her thoughts, and the broken shards of a tattered heart that stutters and pulses, unfailing, every day.
Today, the meadow draws her out like a magnet. She follows the light like a moth to a flame, she blinks at the brightness of it and has to duck her head to shade her eyes. And it’s loud. Has the meadow always been so loud? Every voice is jarring, the sounds coming together in a deafening chorus that makes her want to turn around and disappear again.
Until, she sees him.
She sees him, and her eyes lock with his and that stupid heart of hers that never stopped doing its job, finally stalls in her chest.
“Kensley,” she breathes his name, and she isn’t even sure if he could hear it. He looks different; she can see it from here. He is broken and cold and distant, and though he smiles his eyes remain shadowed by ghosts. She steps to him, and when her muzzle touches his skin she is surprised at how cold he feels, and her heart twists. “What happened to you?”
KENNICE
