01-01-2021, 07:10 PM
stifled the choice and the air in my lungs;
better not to breathe than to breathe a lie
Tiercel cannot remember the last time he shared the entirety of the weight of his emotions with another. He is certain he had smothered his siblings under his excitement or frustration in those years where he could not control his projections. Ever since those days, he has kept his emotions locked away unless he wants to share them with another. Tiercel has kept their heaviness upon his own heart, allowing them to crash against the walls of his body and feeling his skin prickle with heat when they encourage him to set them free.
He is a pressurized vessel.
She is willing — he thinks — to be his release.
The persistent waves of his emotions settle. Tiercel feels weariness settle within him, but it is a peaceful sensation that mingles with the relief Islas has brought him. He spends each day full to the brim with feelings and there is a brief, sweet moment of emptiness after he pours into her. Tiercel catches a glimpse at the shadows she feels; the way he is hollow and absent is foreign and yet he welcomes the sensation.
Her question surprises him and it brings a rare smile to his dark navy lips. His heart has always submitted to the restless tides of his emotions and he cannot imagine a world without such a fact. He supposes he has been hardened by those threatening waves; his spirit has become both an iron prison and a humble slave to the endless onslaught of thought, feeling, and reaction. Tiercel had learned to control and submit early on, when letting his projections run rampant or ignoring the wild flames within led to consequences he would rather not mention again. From his first breath, he has lived with all she had felt, and more. So his reply is rather simple, despite the twisted road that lies behind it. “I don’t know anything different.”
Her pale mouth reignites him, but Tiercel finds himself softening into her touch. She is a light — bright and mysterious — and he is the moth drawn to her. His fatigued heart quickens within his ribs as hers does, and the ancient dance of souls drawing together brings his muscular side closer to her slender one. There are times when emptiness is not recognized until it has been filled. Her warmth makes him realize he has felt emptiness before, although he didn’t notice it until just now. Like his projections might weave to make her darkness feel even darker, the soft ivory of her body makes his loneliness feel even lonelier.
He wonders how long he has felt like this without realizing it (the riptide of bitter isolation, a soft blue flame burning beneath its wilder cousins of rage and guilt). When Tiercel’s pale eyes find her endlessly dark ones, they seem even brighter than they had before — enlightenment seeming to color them a shade lighter than their typical cerulean. Again her question surprises him, and he tucks his nose into the pale strands whispering across her neck to gather his thoughts. Rather than slowing his heart, like he thought it might, Islas’s smooth skin and sweet smell only further speeds it up.
“It doesn’t have a name,” Tiercel says. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it is low and soft in comparison to his normal tenor. The heat of the sun burns against his back, but his insides are igniting with an entirely different heat. “I suppose it’s how I’ve felt about you since we first met.” He feels no shame in admitting there has been a steady ache in his chest, or in acknowledging the fact that he feels as if she is the answer to unspoken prayers. Tiercel pulls his face away from her neck to peer into the abyss of her eyes, expecting her familiar observant yet emotionless stare and anticipating no less than an honest answer.
He is a pressurized vessel.
She is willing — he thinks — to be his release.
The persistent waves of his emotions settle. Tiercel feels weariness settle within him, but it is a peaceful sensation that mingles with the relief Islas has brought him. He spends each day full to the brim with feelings and there is a brief, sweet moment of emptiness after he pours into her. Tiercel catches a glimpse at the shadows she feels; the way he is hollow and absent is foreign and yet he welcomes the sensation.
Her question surprises him and it brings a rare smile to his dark navy lips. His heart has always submitted to the restless tides of his emotions and he cannot imagine a world without such a fact. He supposes he has been hardened by those threatening waves; his spirit has become both an iron prison and a humble slave to the endless onslaught of thought, feeling, and reaction. Tiercel had learned to control and submit early on, when letting his projections run rampant or ignoring the wild flames within led to consequences he would rather not mention again. From his first breath, he has lived with all she had felt, and more. So his reply is rather simple, despite the twisted road that lies behind it. “I don’t know anything different.”
Her pale mouth reignites him, but Tiercel finds himself softening into her touch. She is a light — bright and mysterious — and he is the moth drawn to her. His fatigued heart quickens within his ribs as hers does, and the ancient dance of souls drawing together brings his muscular side closer to her slender one. There are times when emptiness is not recognized until it has been filled. Her warmth makes him realize he has felt emptiness before, although he didn’t notice it until just now. Like his projections might weave to make her darkness feel even darker, the soft ivory of her body makes his loneliness feel even lonelier.
He wonders how long he has felt like this without realizing it (the riptide of bitter isolation, a soft blue flame burning beneath its wilder cousins of rage and guilt). When Tiercel’s pale eyes find her endlessly dark ones, they seem even brighter than they had before — enlightenment seeming to color them a shade lighter than their typical cerulean. Again her question surprises him, and he tucks his nose into the pale strands whispering across her neck to gather his thoughts. Rather than slowing his heart, like he thought it might, Islas’s smooth skin and sweet smell only further speeds it up.
“It doesn’t have a name,” Tiercel says. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it is low and soft in comparison to his normal tenor. The heat of the sun burns against his back, but his insides are igniting with an entirely different heat. “I suppose it’s how I’ve felt about you since we first met.” He feels no shame in admitting there has been a steady ache in his chest, or in acknowledging the fact that he feels as if she is the answer to unspoken prayers. Tiercel pulls his face away from her neck to peer into the abyss of her eyes, expecting her familiar observant yet emotionless stare and anticipating no less than an honest answer.
tiercel.
@[Islas]