03-10-2024, 11:39 PM
yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —
few have seen it but everybody talks —
He isn’t dead, but he draws her attention all the same.
There is something strange about him, even if it is only the fact that he doesn’t appear strange at all. When she first sees him she almost looks away, tucked back in her small grove of trees that clustered in a corner of the meadow, somehow thinking her bejeweled body might stay hidden in the mottled shadows. She hadn't been looking for company today; the ghosts had kept her awake as they tended to do, and the edges of her mind felt foggy from lack of sleep. The thought of having to pretend everything was normal and okay with a stranger felt like an insurmountable task, even more than it usually did.
But thesomething about him is undeniable, and it is so rare for her to feel a pull of any kind that she finds herself stepping into the winter sun, the cold light glinting off the faces of the stones and rubies scattered across her dark body as she steps closer to him. She cannot name what it is, this draw to him, but she knows that the only thing she has ever felt any kind of connection to is the dead.
“Do you hear them, too?” she asks, her soft voice nearly breathless with hope at the idea of finding some kind of kindred spirit — someone else that might know what it’s like to hear the constant murmuring of spirits, to always be haunted. “The ghosts,” she clarifies, her tongue feeling clumsy in her mouth as the idea that maybe she is wrong finally hits her.
There is something strange about him, even if it is only the fact that he doesn’t appear strange at all. When she first sees him she almost looks away, tucked back in her small grove of trees that clustered in a corner of the meadow, somehow thinking her bejeweled body might stay hidden in the mottled shadows. She hadn't been looking for company today; the ghosts had kept her awake as they tended to do, and the edges of her mind felt foggy from lack of sleep. The thought of having to pretend everything was normal and okay with a stranger felt like an insurmountable task, even more than it usually did.
But thesomething about him is undeniable, and it is so rare for her to feel a pull of any kind that she finds herself stepping into the winter sun, the cold light glinting off the faces of the stones and rubies scattered across her dark body as she steps closer to him. She cannot name what it is, this draw to him, but she knows that the only thing she has ever felt any kind of connection to is the dead.
“Do you hear them, too?” she asks, her soft voice nearly breathless with hope at the idea of finding some kind of kindred spirit — someone else that might know what it’s like to hear the constant murmuring of spirits, to always be haunted. “The ghosts,” she clarifies, her tongue feeling clumsy in her mouth as the idea that maybe she is wrong finally hits her.
Narya
— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night