12-11-2016, 04:43 PM
our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
His voice strikes unknown chords within her barren chest, and she shifts, almost imperceptibly, when he says her name. It is like coming out from beneath the water and drawing your first breath. In some ways, it hurt, the ice of the air stinging your lungs in alien ways, but in other ways—oh, in other ways—it was life being poured into you. Hearing his voice, so soft and certain, was life thrilling through her once more.
At his admission, she laughed, shaking her head. “I thought I was gone too.” And she had, for so long. She had felt herself melt outward and inward, her body lost to the shadows and spiraling over the trunks of the jungle trees and mulch, unable to rein it back with her powers so weak, dripping from her slowly.
Without thinking, she took another step forward, the distance between them closing, their bodies close enough that she could feel the warmth of air expelling from him, seeping into the spaces between them. It filled her with a quiet ache as she studied him, remembering all of his familiar planes and angles.
“How have you been?” she questioned, although it was not what she wanted to ask. She wanted to ask if he had thought of her, remembered her; she wanted to ask if he had found love in all of those years, although such emotional topics were not natural to her and it was certainly not her place to ask. She was clumsy with these emotions, uncertain, and the discomfort settled into her bones, fought with the natural desire to just reach out slightly and touch him, finally, to know what his flesh felt like next to her own.
Instead, she fell silent, drawing inward, her expression remaining cool and collected. Her eyes were the only things that gave her away, electric with all of things that remained unsaid between them.