06-28-2020, 01:12 AM
when you're dreaming with a broken heart
He asks her if she is hiding from something, and she isn’t really sure.
If she could hide from anyone, it would be herself. If she could hide herself away from her pain and her hurt and mistakes, she would. But if there is anything that she has learned at all over the years, it’s that all that pain, it follows you. It followed her into death, it followed her into the strange dreamscape afterlife (where she is still not sure if that was dream or reality), and it followed her back here. She was revived with an almost new body, but the same broken heart. The same memories, the same pain, the same weaknesses.
“I don’t know,” she answers him truthfully, wavering and unsure. She watches him from beneath dark lashes, lashes that have collected countless tears, and she stares at him and wonders what kind of pain he has felt. It was something she had started doing after she had been thoroughly broken — always wondering what kind of pain someone else was harboring. Her mother had always been the kind mask it, to cover up heartbreak with anything else she could find, but Anonya had never managed such a skill. She wore it all on her sleeve, in the haunted depths of her eyes and the soft lines of her face, in the sorrow that laced every word and shadowed every smile.
“My name is Anonya,” she offers him, and while he doesn’t know what a worthless thing that is now, he will soon learn. “What are you hiding from?”
If she could hide from anyone, it would be herself. If she could hide herself away from her pain and her hurt and mistakes, she would. But if there is anything that she has learned at all over the years, it’s that all that pain, it follows you. It followed her into death, it followed her into the strange dreamscape afterlife (where she is still not sure if that was dream or reality), and it followed her back here. She was revived with an almost new body, but the same broken heart. The same memories, the same pain, the same weaknesses.
“I don’t know,” she answers him truthfully, wavering and unsure. She watches him from beneath dark lashes, lashes that have collected countless tears, and she stares at him and wonders what kind of pain he has felt. It was something she had started doing after she had been thoroughly broken — always wondering what kind of pain someone else was harboring. Her mother had always been the kind mask it, to cover up heartbreak with anything else she could find, but Anonya had never managed such a skill. She wore it all on her sleeve, in the haunted depths of her eyes and the soft lines of her face, in the sorrow that laced every word and shadowed every smile.
“My name is Anonya,” she offers him, and while he doesn’t know what a worthless thing that is now, he will soon learn. “What are you hiding from?”
the waking up is the hardest part
ANONYA
@[elio]