08-23-2020, 06:56 PM
── and i was never sure whether you were the lighthouse or the storm ──
The silence between them feels loud, feels like it is echoing against her ribs and shuddering inside the chambers of her heart. She wants to fill it, once to speak so that she might give him a reason to have to stay, only her mind has gone blank and her tongue feels numb.
There is nothing that she could possibly say that would change his mind. If there were, she wouldn't have had to leave Hyaline to begin with.
But she wonders if he can hear it – if he can hear the way her heart thunders, a beat so loud and erratic that it causes the blood to rush inside of her ears. She wonders if it tells him all of the things that she cannot say, if maybe that is the reason he does not leave even though she says nothing.
Or maybe – and what she fears is more likely – he says nothing because he has nothing to say, and he does not intend to stay.
He had told her, after all, that whatever existed between them was nothing special. And in the nights away from him that followed, she had almost convinced herself that he was right. She almost convinced herself she had fabricated it all, that her heart had played a cruel trick on her mind.
Until now, with him so close.
She waits in that tense moment right before he speaks, afraid of what he might say. Afraid of having to hear him push her away with the harshness of his words, afraid of the sharpness she is sure will be in his voice.
But what he says makes her hard-beating heart stutter to a stop, makes all of the other sounds fall away, until it is all she hears.
She is silent at first. Silent as she tries to process what he might mean by that, afraid of assuming he means what she hopes he means. But even despite that she cannot help but to step closer to him, away from the shadow of all her doubts and fears, to close the space between them until she could touch him if she wanted. She doesn't, though. She lingers here, with that small shred of doubt still separating them, with apprehension tense and simmering under her skin.
“So did I,” she tells him, her voice quiet and mild even when placed against the edge of his, unable to fight again. “Because I should never have left.”
She swallows against the bitter feeling rising in her throat again, the burning of tears that cannot be shed. “Can I come home?”
There is nothing that she could possibly say that would change his mind. If there were, she wouldn't have had to leave Hyaline to begin with.
But she wonders if he can hear it – if he can hear the way her heart thunders, a beat so loud and erratic that it causes the blood to rush inside of her ears. She wonders if it tells him all of the things that she cannot say, if maybe that is the reason he does not leave even though she says nothing.
Or maybe – and what she fears is more likely – he says nothing because he has nothing to say, and he does not intend to stay.
He had told her, after all, that whatever existed between them was nothing special. And in the nights away from him that followed, she had almost convinced herself that he was right. She almost convinced herself she had fabricated it all, that her heart had played a cruel trick on her mind.
Until now, with him so close.
She waits in that tense moment right before he speaks, afraid of what he might say. Afraid of having to hear him push her away with the harshness of his words, afraid of the sharpness she is sure will be in his voice.
But what he says makes her hard-beating heart stutter to a stop, makes all of the other sounds fall away, until it is all she hears.
She is silent at first. Silent as she tries to process what he might mean by that, afraid of assuming he means what she hopes he means. But even despite that she cannot help but to step closer to him, away from the shadow of all her doubts and fears, to close the space between them until she could touch him if she wanted. She doesn't, though. She lingers here, with that small shred of doubt still separating them, with apprehension tense and simmering under her skin.
“So did I,” she tells him, her voice quiet and mild even when placed against the edge of his, unable to fight again. “Because I should never have left.”
She swallows against the bitter feeling rising in her throat again, the burning of tears that cannot be shed. “Can I come home?”
ryatah
