12-21-2020, 12:13 AM
when you're dreaming with a broken heart
He moves as if he is going to kiss her and she goes still, save for the way her heart suddenly begins to race. She can hardly remember the last time she had anyone that greeted her in such a way; it was so long ago that sometimes she wondered if it had even been real, or if it was some strange death-dream her soul had conjured while she was dead.
But he stops just short, and though her heart still jumps at the slight way his lips brush against her hair, she cannot deny the wave of disappointment that washes over her before gathering into a knot that settles into her chest. She cannot help the doubt that slowly follows; doubt that was already so firmly rooted after being left time and time again, doubt that she has been working on trying to shake. She has learned to trust him in all the small ways that she can – in that tentative belief that he would not stay if he did not want to, the cautious idea that he would never come back if he did not find her worth coming back to.
She has been down this road before, though.
She has trusted her heart with careless hands, has seen the way it is left to wither and wilt when they decide they no longer wanted it.
Larva has never given her a reason to think that he is the same, but her heart still cannot convince her mind that he is different.
There is a soft breath that she releases when he rests his forehead against hers, and unknowingly she presses back into him, her eyes closing. “I wish I believed that,” she says with a short, quiet laugh. She is so afraid of pushing him that most times she chooses to do nothing at all, even though she knows that isn't the right answer, either. But she has done everything right in the past – or at least, she thought she had – and still been left, still been discarded in favor of someone else. She worries that the longer she is around him the more he will start to see all of her flaws, or will grow tired of her insecurities and the quietly melancholy and guarded way that she watches him.
When he does at least kiss her brow she feels more of the wall start to crumble, disintegrating into dust at his mere touch.
She still hesitates, though. There is a pause that while silent it is filled with the tension in her chest, a taut kind of humming that seems to vibrate in the air as she debates how much of herself she wants to reveal. “I’m just not used to having anyone,” she confesses softly, the knot in her chest tightening. “Everyone has always left,” or completely betrayed her, like her father, and her mother for not being there when she had needed her most. “And I don't want you to leave,” she continues, lifting her eyes to the sharp sage-green of his, and tracing the familiar hard lines of his mouth but not daring to touch him, “but I don't know how to make you stay, either.”
But he stops just short, and though her heart still jumps at the slight way his lips brush against her hair, she cannot deny the wave of disappointment that washes over her before gathering into a knot that settles into her chest. She cannot help the doubt that slowly follows; doubt that was already so firmly rooted after being left time and time again, doubt that she has been working on trying to shake. She has learned to trust him in all the small ways that she can – in that tentative belief that he would not stay if he did not want to, the cautious idea that he would never come back if he did not find her worth coming back to.
She has been down this road before, though.
She has trusted her heart with careless hands, has seen the way it is left to wither and wilt when they decide they no longer wanted it.
Larva has never given her a reason to think that he is the same, but her heart still cannot convince her mind that he is different.
There is a soft breath that she releases when he rests his forehead against hers, and unknowingly she presses back into him, her eyes closing. “I wish I believed that,” she says with a short, quiet laugh. She is so afraid of pushing him that most times she chooses to do nothing at all, even though she knows that isn't the right answer, either. But she has done everything right in the past – or at least, she thought she had – and still been left, still been discarded in favor of someone else. She worries that the longer she is around him the more he will start to see all of her flaws, or will grow tired of her insecurities and the quietly melancholy and guarded way that she watches him.
When he does at least kiss her brow she feels more of the wall start to crumble, disintegrating into dust at his mere touch.
She still hesitates, though. There is a pause that while silent it is filled with the tension in her chest, a taut kind of humming that seems to vibrate in the air as she debates how much of herself she wants to reveal. “I’m just not used to having anyone,” she confesses softly, the knot in her chest tightening. “Everyone has always left,” or completely betrayed her, like her father, and her mother for not being there when she had needed her most. “And I don't want you to leave,” she continues, lifting her eyes to the sharp sage-green of his, and tracing the familiar hard lines of his mouth but not daring to touch him, “but I don't know how to make you stay, either.”
the waking up is the hardest part
ANONYA
@[Larva]