04-07-2023, 04:35 PM
who could ever leave me, darling,
but who could stay?
but who could stay?
She could have hidden from the rain, but she doesn’t.
There is something that makes her feel terribly alive, to be drenched in a cold that seeps into her bones, to feel her teeth clench and her muscles ache with the need to tremble. It is an innate flaw on her part, to only find meaning in discomfort and pain—to only feel as if she is living when in the company of some kind of misery. A strange thing, because if someone were to ask her are you happy? she would answer, without hesitation, yes, of course, and might even be confused why someone would think the contrary. Sorrow and happiness and pain and contentment have always gone hand in hand for her—they cannot exist without each other, a careful balance of scales that needed to be tilted just so to keep herself from feeling as if she is falling.
Stardust scatters on the surface of puddles that pool on the ground in a trail behind her, and her pale mane clings to her damp neck, blinking the rain from her eyes. Despite her inward changes—changes she still has not looked too closely at—she remains outwardly the same, haloed and glowing, stark white and gold, with only pitch-dark eyes to break up the otherworldly brightness. She sees him, drifting and alone, like a gilded, earth-bound storm cloud. He is slicked wet just as she is, but a simple glance tells her he is saturated in more than just water, with sorrow dripping from like stardust and water does from her wings.
“Don’t be sorry,” she tells him, with a quiet kind of urgency to her soft voice—not wanting him to leave, taking a gliding step to just barely block his path, or so that she might at least fall into step behind him. She is not often drawn to sadness, preferring instead those that are blade-sharp and unforgiving, someone where her role is always the same and she is only expected to break rather than make anything better. “Where are you going?” she finds herself asking him, trying to anchor him to this place, if only for a little while.
There is something that makes her feel terribly alive, to be drenched in a cold that seeps into her bones, to feel her teeth clench and her muscles ache with the need to tremble. It is an innate flaw on her part, to only find meaning in discomfort and pain—to only feel as if she is living when in the company of some kind of misery. A strange thing, because if someone were to ask her are you happy? she would answer, without hesitation, yes, of course, and might even be confused why someone would think the contrary. Sorrow and happiness and pain and contentment have always gone hand in hand for her—they cannot exist without each other, a careful balance of scales that needed to be tilted just so to keep herself from feeling as if she is falling.
Stardust scatters on the surface of puddles that pool on the ground in a trail behind her, and her pale mane clings to her damp neck, blinking the rain from her eyes. Despite her inward changes—changes she still has not looked too closely at—she remains outwardly the same, haloed and glowing, stark white and gold, with only pitch-dark eyes to break up the otherworldly brightness. She sees him, drifting and alone, like a gilded, earth-bound storm cloud. He is slicked wet just as she is, but a simple glance tells her he is saturated in more than just water, with sorrow dripping from like stardust and water does from her wings.
“Don’t be sorry,” she tells him, with a quiet kind of urgency to her soft voice—not wanting him to leave, taking a gliding step to just barely block his path, or so that she might at least fall into step behind him. She is not often drawn to sadness, preferring instead those that are blade-sharp and unforgiving, someone where her role is always the same and she is only expected to break rather than make anything better. “Where are you going?” she finds herself asking him, trying to anchor him to this place, if only for a little while.
Ryatah
@achille