07-28-2018, 05:19 PM
Infinity is the time spent in the dark of a mothers womb. It is always same and always unchanged, unmarked by the passing of day or night - and because it is the only thing that she has ever known, it is enough. Enough, until it changes. Until this world (this womb) comes alive and wild around her, squeezing and pushing and urging her to elsewhere. But does she want this elsewhere? She isn’t sure, wonders if maybe she would rather stay here where it is dark and quiet and the sound of her heartbeat races alongside that other beat. Her mothers beat - though she doesn’t know it for what it is, knows it only as her first friend.
Oh but it fusses again, this world, squeezing and squishing and pressing in on her - and maybe she does want to leave now, maybe elsewhere will be nicer than this.
So she goes - as though she has a choice - until she is changed too. A tired tangle of damp legs and fledgling wings nestled in the palm of Tephra. And oh! How quickly she forgets that other world, that quiet infinity of sameness and silence, the warm crush of walls all around her like a perpetual cocoon - because this world is loud and so, so big and the discovery of it leaves room for nothing else inside her. Thus her truth of infinity is forgotten.
She blinks and immediately wishes she had not, closes her eyes and pinches them tight against the sharp silver starlight spilling across her golden face. Hesitates a beat and then tries again, squinting softly up at the two silhouetted figures peering back at her. The first reaches out to clean her, and she tenses, the sensation strange and rough in a way that no one could have predicted. But it isn’t all bad, this new warmth her mother grooms back into her, and after a bit she relaxes slightly, dark eyes soft and a little sleepy, nosing closer to someone who smells like safety. She is nearly asleep, swaying gently over her curled legs, nose pressed to the ground in a way that makes the grass move in the breeze of lazy exhales when sound rushes in like a storm.
She lurches awkwardly to perch over her curled legs, those dark amber eyes suddenly wide beneath a furrowed brow as she peers up at those faces again. Her nose wrinkles and her ears go flat, sinking even further into the tufts of her mohawk mane. They’re so loud, don’t they know? She gives her head a shake, unhappy even with those soft murmurous whispers pressed into her gold dapples. It sounds of too much wind, of a storm carried by the sea and caught between the rocks, sounds of things she doesn’t yet know. She shakes her head again, shakes it so hard her ears make soft slapping sounds against the sides of her delicate head.
Oh but it fusses again, this world, squeezing and squishing and pressing in on her - and maybe she does want to leave now, maybe elsewhere will be nicer than this.
So she goes - as though she has a choice - until she is changed too. A tired tangle of damp legs and fledgling wings nestled in the palm of Tephra. And oh! How quickly she forgets that other world, that quiet infinity of sameness and silence, the warm crush of walls all around her like a perpetual cocoon - because this world is loud and so, so big and the discovery of it leaves room for nothing else inside her. Thus her truth of infinity is forgotten.
She blinks and immediately wishes she had not, closes her eyes and pinches them tight against the sharp silver starlight spilling across her golden face. Hesitates a beat and then tries again, squinting softly up at the two silhouetted figures peering back at her. The first reaches out to clean her, and she tenses, the sensation strange and rough in a way that no one could have predicted. But it isn’t all bad, this new warmth her mother grooms back into her, and after a bit she relaxes slightly, dark eyes soft and a little sleepy, nosing closer to someone who smells like safety. She is nearly asleep, swaying gently over her curled legs, nose pressed to the ground in a way that makes the grass move in the breeze of lazy exhales when sound rushes in like a storm.
She lurches awkwardly to perch over her curled legs, those dark amber eyes suddenly wide beneath a furrowed brow as she peers up at those faces again. Her nose wrinkles and her ears go flat, sinking even further into the tufts of her mohawk mane. They’re so loud, don’t they know? She gives her head a shake, unhappy even with those soft murmurous whispers pressed into her gold dapples. It sounds of too much wind, of a storm carried by the sea and caught between the rocks, sounds of things she doesn’t yet know. She shakes her head again, shakes it so hard her ears make soft slapping sounds against the sides of her delicate head.