08-24-2018, 10:39 PM
Time is like an old friend, tracing gentle fingers across dark cheeks flecked with soft white hairs, adding invisible weight to the curve of a back dusted in the same, soft shade. She had been wild once, in her youth, with storms churning in her chest, secrets dark and burning in the backs of those quiet brown eyes. But time has tamed her. Time, life. It has traded the wild for a deep kind of weariness, stretched cracks across her skin wide enough for regret to seep in and infect her heart.
She regrets her children most of all - not having them, never that. She regrets not knowing them better, not loving them more fiercely through everything that had happened, not holding on tighter. Do they know how much she loves them? How she spends her days at a distance, watching their lives, memorizing their faces, loving them. They are wild like she is, and with all the fire of their father.
They are wonderful.
She does not watch them now though, choosing instead to stand alone at the edge of the cliff and watch the waves beat against the stones below. The monotony makes it easier to think, makes the rift in her chest wider, makes the regret louder. But maybe she deserves this pain, this wishing things could have been different. Wondering how it could be that she had managed to let each of them down. It is so easy to look back now and see the changes she should have made - so much harder in the moment to recognize the opportunities as they slip past.
Her eyes close, shutting out the glow of the sun as it sinks toward such distant waves along the horizon. She does not need to see it to feel its heat fading from where it had been pressed to the soft brown curves of her skin, to know that the shadows have begun to creep in around her legs, pool in the delicate hollows at her hip and shoulders.
She can feel them settle in her chest too, nestled in against the ache of her heart where they seem to return to each night with the lonely dark.
@[magnus]
She regrets her children most of all - not having them, never that. She regrets not knowing them better, not loving them more fiercely through everything that had happened, not holding on tighter. Do they know how much she loves them? How she spends her days at a distance, watching their lives, memorizing their faces, loving them. They are wild like she is, and with all the fire of their father.
They are wonderful.
She does not watch them now though, choosing instead to stand alone at the edge of the cliff and watch the waves beat against the stones below. The monotony makes it easier to think, makes the rift in her chest wider, makes the regret louder. But maybe she deserves this pain, this wishing things could have been different. Wondering how it could be that she had managed to let each of them down. It is so easy to look back now and see the changes she should have made - so much harder in the moment to recognize the opportunities as they slip past.
Her eyes close, shutting out the glow of the sun as it sinks toward such distant waves along the horizon. She does not need to see it to feel its heat fading from where it had been pressed to the soft brown curves of her skin, to know that the shadows have begun to creep in around her legs, pool in the delicate hollows at her hip and shoulders.
She can feel them settle in her chest too, nestled in against the ache of her heart where they seem to return to each night with the lonely dark.
@[magnus]