I need that fire just to know that I'm awake
There is something familiar here, as though she had been her before. As though she had stood in this very spot, gazing out at this same expansive green. But there is something missing. Something not quite right. But her memories, shattered and fractured inside her skull, refuse to be pieced together to answer the questions she could not ask. Instead she is left to gaze out at the landscape, features still and numb as a hollow settles inside her chest.
Perhaps there is nothing for her here after all.
But she does not leave. Cannot leave, as though her feet have become rooted to the spot she now stands. A gentle breeze filters across the sloping hills, ruffling the newly risen grass, tugging playfully at the tangled locks flowing across her slender neck and hiding the vibrant gold of her eyes. She would have been a beautiful woman, but the fissures etched across every finely delineated inch of her body tell a story of hardship. Of pain and betrayal.
Though it hardly seems to matter anymore, when the story has become as lost to the ether.
To some perhaps, she is still beautiful. But only in the way broken things can be. A loveliness in the painful fragility and jagged edges. Sharper and harder, inspiring unease in the same way it does admiration. She cannot see it of course, but others might, if they looked closely enough.
She should leave, she thinks. She cannot remember anything here anyway. And there is so much more she has to find, so many ways to seek those missing pieces of her. And yet, she stays, her feet unwilling to carry her beyond this patch of grass.
Joscelin
@[perse]