I wish I could take the hands of time and turn them in reverse
I'd take back every long goodbye with venom in my words
He doesn’t need to do, or say, anything more. She is already irreversibly and irrevocably his. He has been branded on her and the tides of her pulse have been altered to flow around the new paths of his presence. She knows, in some secret part of her heart, that he will leave. That she won’t be enough to keep him here—even though she wants to be. She is ashamed for how much she wants to be enough.
When the weight finally lifts from her back, she is trembling from exhaustion and desire, and she feels her scales slip against his slickened flesh. She feels him press a kiss to her hip and then come up her side and she curls around to find his chest, to press her cheek there so that she can hear his heart pounding.
Does it beat the same as hers?
Does it have the same tempo?
She swallows hard and wonders at the golden glow in her chest that is only mirrored by the darkness of dread that is already snaking through her—this reminder that this is temporary. She grasps at the shadows of him already; she clutches it to her and wishes against hope that it will not fall through her fingers.
He says her name and she can’t stop the single tear that hits her cheek.
“Beth,” she whispers against his heart—his wild, beautiful, tangled heart. “Don’t leave,” she hates herself for how weak she sounds and she bites her lips until they bleed, until the fangs split them open.
“Just a little longer, okay?”
But it doesn’t matter because she knows that he is like smoke and even knowing that, that her heart has been twisted like barbed wire around the memory of him. She swallows hard and then says nothing else, just standing there in the cool autumn air with his pulse to her ear, waiting for the hammer to fall.
He is next to her and she misses him already.
the only way to being found is getting lost at first
but all I find are more bridges to burn
