But so much has staid the same.
Here they are, with the tall grass that touches their bellies, with the sunsets and the rivers and the hazels all behind them. Here they are, weak in the knees, still not able to look each other in the eyes because the beauty is overwhelming. Here they are, years from then, and Cordis still reminds her of mermaids. Here they are, years from then, and she still reminds her of beacons, of lightning. Here they are, years from then, and she still reminds her of all the things she once held close to her breast, of all the things that she once held.
So much of them is still exactly the same.
Spyndle has loved her for so long, but she still feels so much bigger than everything else. Cordis still feels ethereal – like she is made up of ghosts, of dreams, of diamonds. Spyndle has loved her for so long, and yet her dark eyes can still strip her down and leave her bare with only all the seconds it takes in a glance. She has loved her for so long, and yet she can still feel so small beside her hip-to-hip and cheek-to-cheek. She has loved her for so long, but she still feels like nothing in comparison.
“You’re lying,” she says, and Spyndle holds her tongue between her teeth and wonders if she will ever love anything more than the lines of her face, than the lyrics in her syllables. A piece of her clings to the hope that she will – the hope that this is only the beginning. A piece of her hopes with everything she has left that this is only the beginning; the cave on the side of the mountain that made her sprout wings. There is a piece of her that hopes this is right because it isn’t howling winds or frostbite. There is a piece of her that hopes, because reality means devastation – because reality means that a life without her might kill everything else.
And here is the thing – she has an image in her mind of all the things that they could have been if they had both made different choices – but that image doesn’t erase the things that they said, the things that they did, and the things they always wanted to do but didn’t have the courage for. She believes in a world where they exist, but it cannot be this one. She believes in a time where they exist, but it isn’t this one. She believes, but just barely.
There is a fire in the sunset, and it falls across their backs. The grass holds their hips, the river laps at their heels, and the branches of the hazel tree press against their ribs. So much of what they are is different, but so much is still the same. She still draws out the lines of her face and sees eternity. She still looks at her and feels whole instead of fragmented. She knows that they are not right – she has to know it – but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel right. If they were everything left living she could not be home to so much doubt.
“Let me go,” she says, chokes without listening, and if there were any tears left inside her body she might have wet her cheeks and lost them now.
“Please, let me go.”
spyndle
you are the prettiest thing that I will ever know