03-02-2017, 12:59 AM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Playfair+Display|Jaldi' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .lelianaone_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background-color: #1C1F1E; width: 600px; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .lelianaone_container p { margin: 0; } .lelianaone_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .lelianaone_gradient { position: absolute; z-index: 4; width: 100%; height: 513px; top: 396px; background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%, rgba(28,31,30,1) 100%); background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%,rgba(28,31,30,1) 100%); background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%,rgba(28,31,30,1) 100%); filter: progidXImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#007db9e8', endColorstr='#1c1f1e',GradientType=0 ); } .lelianaone_text { position: relative; z-index: 5; width: 580px; margin-top: -465px; background-color: rgba(28, 16, 14, 0.9); padding-top: 20px; } .lelianaone_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #575f5d; padding: 0px 35px 20px; } .lelianaone_quote { position: relative; text-align: left; color: #5c5c59; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 35px; } .lelianaone_quotebottom { position: relative; text-align: right; color: #5c5c59; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; padding-bottom: 20px; padding-right: 35px; } </style> <center> <div class="lelianaone_container"> <img class="lelianaone_image" src="https://i.imgsafe.org/aa1c5bd0cb.jpg"> <div class="lelianaone_gradient"></div> <div class="lelianaone_text"> <p class="lelianaone_quote">I waited for something and something died <br>so I waited for nothing and nothing arrived</p> <p class="lelianaone_message">
It was difficult to not imagine the what ifs.
It was impossible to not wonder about the possibilities, of the things that they could have been, would have been. If Zoryn had not found them, if he had not pulled Dovev back into his own life, if he had not had a child, if his heart had not already been claimed. It was impossible to not think about these things, the almosts so soft and so impossible as they clung to them, seeping into their very flesh. It was almost beautiful. It was almost perfect. They had almost been forever—almost constellations.
The stars had almost been theirs to hold.
Another sob threatens to climb her throat, to spill onto her tongue, to press its needy hands to his chest. It is something that only grows worse the longer that she lays here, something that only grows within her with each passing second, the space between them so tiny and yet so infinite. She can feel entire galaxies pressing between them, new lives, timelines that had no business drawing air pushed up between the two of them as if they belonged. She turns her cheek to them and pulls herself into his drunken warmth.
Just one moment before.
But then his nose is beneath hers and her chin is moving up slowly, her lashes parting so that she can take him in. He is handsome, but not in the way you would expect. Not in the way that was easy to appreciate. He is angular, painfully thin, but strong—the curves of him more dangerous than anything. He is a blade and the edge of him is pressing into her. He is a knife, and she is going to bleed out—
(she knows it, she knows it)
He is talking and the words, those three bombs, detonate in her mind, until all of the air is sucked out of her lungs and her head is light. Because it was what she had always wanted to hear, it was what she had always needed to hear from him—and yet. And yet. It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough. Their love wasn’t enough to save them—not anymore. It was just the nail in the coffin, the final bullet in the skull.
“I wish I was enough,” she finally whispers, the words broken on an equally shattered tongue, her hazel eyes closing against the weight of everything. She could die here, she thinks. She could just sink into the earth until it swallowed her whole, until she was nothing but a seed and she was growing, growing into something new, something more beautiful, something eternal. She could die happy with his mouth on her and his scent in her and his words ringing in her ears. If only. If only it was that simple—that easy.
Her mouth find his cheek and cleans him as he had cleansed her, wiping the salt away and leaving one final kiss there. And then she stands. She stands because it is the only thing to do, even though her flesh is screaming and her heart is pounding and her legs are weak. She stands and her wings turn from snow to the familiar obsidian and ivory, and they curl around and hold her as he had but moments before.
“Remember me,” she asks, the request soft. Remember me in the moments of the in-between. Remember me when the bloodshed fades and you’re left alone in the aftermath. Remember me when sleep finally clams you and when dusk draws your eyelids down. Remember me when your pulse slows to a crawl and when it’s the only thing you can hear, both a whisper and a roar. Remember me, remember me, remember.
“Please?” her crimson lips quirk just a little in the corner and a frown chases her eyes.
But she steps away, staggering against the pain of the goodbye.
(Find me again, she wants to scream. Fight for me. But she buries the words in her selfish heart.)
Instead she studies him for another moment, internalizes the lines of him, swallows every breath of air that is stained with him before she just nods, tears on her cheek, lifts into the air, and leaves.
</p> <p class="lelianaone_quotebottom">it's our dearest ally, it's our closest friend <br>it's our darkest blackout, it's our final end</p> </div> </div> </center>
It was difficult to not imagine the what ifs.
It was impossible to not wonder about the possibilities, of the things that they could have been, would have been. If Zoryn had not found them, if he had not pulled Dovev back into his own life, if he had not had a child, if his heart had not already been claimed. It was impossible to not think about these things, the almosts so soft and so impossible as they clung to them, seeping into their very flesh. It was almost beautiful. It was almost perfect. They had almost been forever—almost constellations.
The stars had almost been theirs to hold.
Another sob threatens to climb her throat, to spill onto her tongue, to press its needy hands to his chest. It is something that only grows worse the longer that she lays here, something that only grows within her with each passing second, the space between them so tiny and yet so infinite. She can feel entire galaxies pressing between them, new lives, timelines that had no business drawing air pushed up between the two of them as if they belonged. She turns her cheek to them and pulls herself into his drunken warmth.
Just one moment before.
But then his nose is beneath hers and her chin is moving up slowly, her lashes parting so that she can take him in. He is handsome, but not in the way you would expect. Not in the way that was easy to appreciate. He is angular, painfully thin, but strong—the curves of him more dangerous than anything. He is a blade and the edge of him is pressing into her. He is a knife, and she is going to bleed out—
(she knows it, she knows it)
He is talking and the words, those three bombs, detonate in her mind, until all of the air is sucked out of her lungs and her head is light. Because it was what she had always wanted to hear, it was what she had always needed to hear from him—and yet. And yet. It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough. Their love wasn’t enough to save them—not anymore. It was just the nail in the coffin, the final bullet in the skull.
“I wish I was enough,” she finally whispers, the words broken on an equally shattered tongue, her hazel eyes closing against the weight of everything. She could die here, she thinks. She could just sink into the earth until it swallowed her whole, until she was nothing but a seed and she was growing, growing into something new, something more beautiful, something eternal. She could die happy with his mouth on her and his scent in her and his words ringing in her ears. If only. If only it was that simple—that easy.
Her mouth find his cheek and cleans him as he had cleansed her, wiping the salt away and leaving one final kiss there. And then she stands. She stands because it is the only thing to do, even though her flesh is screaming and her heart is pounding and her legs are weak. She stands and her wings turn from snow to the familiar obsidian and ivory, and they curl around and hold her as he had but moments before.
“Remember me,” she asks, the request soft. Remember me in the moments of the in-between. Remember me when the bloodshed fades and you’re left alone in the aftermath. Remember me when sleep finally clams you and when dusk draws your eyelids down. Remember me when your pulse slows to a crawl and when it’s the only thing you can hear, both a whisper and a roar. Remember me, remember me, remember.
“Please?” her crimson lips quirk just a little in the corner and a frown chases her eyes.
But she steps away, staggering against the pain of the goodbye.
(Find me again, she wants to scream. Fight for me. But she buries the words in her selfish heart.)
Instead she studies him for another moment, internalizes the lines of him, swallows every breath of air that is stained with him before she just nods, tears on her cheek, lifts into the air, and leaves.
</p> <p class="lelianaone_quotebottom">it's our dearest ally, it's our closest friend <br>it's our darkest blackout, it's our final end</p> </div> </div> </center>
the heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity