11-13-2021, 09:09 PM
The world is a hundred thousand burning questions, just barely stitched together with color and shape and sound- you swear if you could, you’d push against it just a little, if you could just figure out how, you could lift the film of the world and find all the dark sticky constellations that make up reality. All the tiny bits of chaos arranged in neat little rows and patterns and swirls. But your world is too small, much too tiny in the way it can fit in the palm of an island.
You shouldn’t be out here, shouldn’t be so far. You had gone with your father to Nerine, but you were not supposed to wander, and certainly not this far. ‘We will leave come morning, back to the island.’ He had said. And you think, I have until then to see the world and find its secrets. ‘Do not be reckless, Wylder.’ Comes his mother.
Reckless, but not as a compliment.
The same way the boys call you gentle when they really mean soft, or fearless when they mean to say you are careless and give no thought to yourself or to others.
You like who you are. You like the blanket of invisibility; being able to slip beneath it at will. Your footprints and those wise enough to see it are your only give away. This may be the only way you are able to come so near to her. (You would think she is strange, but you have only known your family and the North, you think maybe this is how the rest of the world is).
You emerge from that cloak of invisibility like a ripple, from head to toe. “I’m not supposed to be out here—are you?” Your smirk is a beast, there and then gone.
never gave a single thought to where it might lead
image by Gary Bendig
@miseria