01-17-2022, 02:38 AM
Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
She isn’t sure how long they stand there staring at each other, but it is long enough that shadows of doubt snake through her mind.
He is mad that she left, he is mad that she could not find her way back sooner, he is mad that she came back because he has already moved on and now she is here before him ready to take an ax to all he has rebuilt (and she would—her mind fires that retaliation in response to the last conclusion she jumps to so quickly that she is surprised by it, by the almost ferocious jealousy that ignites in her chest and the eerie, resolute calm that follows).
But the light shifts and she sees the way tears glint as they slip down his dark, hardened face, and she does need to use her empathy to look inside of him to see how he feels.
She never has to, because he is always her mirror, and she knows the myriad of emotions that spill from the confines of her ribcage and down her porcelain-white cheeks are the same as his.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats as the distance between them disappears, until her scarred chest is pressed into his and her face is buried into the tangled mess of his mane. Her body shudders as she chokes down the tears, pulling back only to gently brush her lips against his face, tasting the salt and the sorrow that matches what is already on her tongue. “I was trying to get back to you,” she whispers around the aching knot in her throat, a desperate kind of plea because she is afraid he might think she had been gone for so long on purpose, or that she had not been doing everything imaginable to herself back to his side. “I would never willingly leave you,” she says with her forehead now resting against his neck, her eyes closed against the throbbing pain that refuses to ease in her chest. “Please, please tell me you know that.”
He is mad that she left, he is mad that she could not find her way back sooner, he is mad that she came back because he has already moved on and now she is here before him ready to take an ax to all he has rebuilt (and she would—her mind fires that retaliation in response to the last conclusion she jumps to so quickly that she is surprised by it, by the almost ferocious jealousy that ignites in her chest and the eerie, resolute calm that follows).
But the light shifts and she sees the way tears glint as they slip down his dark, hardened face, and she does need to use her empathy to look inside of him to see how he feels.
She never has to, because he is always her mirror, and she knows the myriad of emotions that spill from the confines of her ribcage and down her porcelain-white cheeks are the same as his.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats as the distance between them disappears, until her scarred chest is pressed into his and her face is buried into the tangled mess of his mane. Her body shudders as she chokes down the tears, pulling back only to gently brush her lips against his face, tasting the salt and the sorrow that matches what is already on her tongue. “I was trying to get back to you,” she whispers around the aching knot in her throat, a desperate kind of plea because she is afraid he might think she had been gone for so long on purpose, or that she had not been doing everything imaginable to herself back to his side. “I would never willingly leave you,” she says with her forehead now resting against his neck, her eyes closed against the throbbing pain that refuses to ease in her chest. “Please, please tell me you know that.”
AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE
@atrox