04-11-2020, 01:51 PM
When the sky darkens, paints itself indigo with pockmarks of starlight, and the moon claims the heavens- Jenger feels a serenity come over her. She spends her days in darkness, the lack of Sun does not quell her condition, but the night brings a peace all the same.
Each glittering constellation, dapples her frame, reflects itself in her now deepened coat, mimicking the overhead veil of night as it appears.
If only she could see it-
A waning Moon boldly brightens the girl, a magnificence unburdened by cloud cover, that unrelenting thief of the Sun. They are the same in that way, bandits that cling onto something that they hardly owned, robbing from their partners.
He the Sun and She, this unassuming creation of a God, Him in return.
Neither of them asked for this, yet here they were, circumstance isn’t something you can escape. If it were, would they have the will to carry on?
Ah, maybe the Moon, but she- she is a peculier girl.
“Hello little singers,” a whisper to the insects that raise a harmony in the stillness. Unseen makers of music, delighting her ears with their harmonic chirps and twills, accompanied by the peep of frogs. Bass that takes a rhythm with the tempo of her own heart, matching the steady thump that beats against the cage of her ribs.
So why does that feel so hollow in comparison?
Each glittering constellation, dapples her frame, reflects itself in her now deepened coat, mimicking the overhead veil of night as it appears.
If only she could see it-
A waning Moon boldly brightens the girl, a magnificence unburdened by cloud cover, that unrelenting thief of the Sun. They are the same in that way, bandits that cling onto something that they hardly owned, robbing from their partners.
He the Sun and She, this unassuming creation of a God, Him in return.
Neither of them asked for this, yet here they were, circumstance isn’t something you can escape. If it were, would they have the will to carry on?
Ah, maybe the Moon, but she- she is a peculier girl.
“Hello little singers,” a whisper to the insects that raise a harmony in the stillness. Unseen makers of music, delighting her ears with their harmonic chirps and twills, accompanied by the peep of frogs. Bass that takes a rhythm with the tempo of her own heart, matching the steady thump that beats against the cage of her ribs.
So why does that feel so hollow in comparison?
jenger
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