10-14-2017, 09:53 PM
Ellyse
she is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness
His face is so innocent, and so pure – her heart clenches tightly within her chest at the sight of his unshed tears, brimming along the warm and gentle hazel eyes that were her own – but he is so much more than she is. Strength and courage and humility – he is perfection, and she can see it so much more clearly, despite the limitation of her vision, and despite the hollow emptiness of her weary heart. She can sense his sorrow, his pity, and there is an edge of shame hungrily feasting upon her bruised and battered ego – but she does not shy away from his stare.
When he finally presses against her, tucked against her chest, she is reminded of his youth – of his awkward, unsteady limbs carrying him carefree and gleeful through the dense vegetation and over thick rivulets of magma, bubbling and glowing with warmth. He has grown, and soon, testosterone will take away the edge of youth along his cheek and the innocence from his blithe smile – she is quiet, savoring his heartbeat steadying alongside her own, as her lips press a soft kiss against the nape of his neck.
”No,” she murmurs to him, honestly, though it causes her heart anguish. He is too young to see her as he does now, but she cannot take away her morbid wound, nor her bloodstained skin, her collapsed lung, her broken heart. He can see it all, written into the grimacing features of her once beautiful features, and she cannot lie to him – not when the truth is plain to see. ”but I will be,” and there is a small tendril of hope –
Perhaps, in time, she would.
”I know, sweet boy, I know,” she murmurs softly, soothing his aching heart, and the trepidation harbored inside of him. ”I am so proud of you,” she whispers, her voice quivering against the flawless crème of his skin, thinking of Dahmer, of the sacrifice he had made and of his disappearance - hoping beyond hope that he, too, would appear upon the horizon as she had. She couldn't bear the thought of her son's broken heart if he did not. ”I am so sorry.”
When he finally presses against her, tucked against her chest, she is reminded of his youth – of his awkward, unsteady limbs carrying him carefree and gleeful through the dense vegetation and over thick rivulets of magma, bubbling and glowing with warmth. He has grown, and soon, testosterone will take away the edge of youth along his cheek and the innocence from his blithe smile – she is quiet, savoring his heartbeat steadying alongside her own, as her lips press a soft kiss against the nape of his neck.
”No,” she murmurs to him, honestly, though it causes her heart anguish. He is too young to see her as he does now, but she cannot take away her morbid wound, nor her bloodstained skin, her collapsed lung, her broken heart. He can see it all, written into the grimacing features of her once beautiful features, and she cannot lie to him – not when the truth is plain to see. ”but I will be,” and there is a small tendril of hope –
Perhaps, in time, she would.
”I know, sweet boy, I know,” she murmurs softly, soothing his aching heart, and the trepidation harbored inside of him. ”I am so proud of you,” she whispers, her voice quivering against the flawless crème of his skin, thinking of Dahmer, of the sacrifice he had made and of his disappearance - hoping beyond hope that he, too, would appear upon the horizon as she had. She couldn't bear the thought of her son's broken heart if he did not. ”I am so sorry.”
she rules her life like a fine skylark, and when the sky is starless