02-16-2020, 03:24 AM
I hope he takes your filthy heart
and then he throws you away someday
and then he throws you away someday
There is something about her that feels familiar, and he wishes that he could place it.
Something in her face that feels like he has seen it before, even though he knows it’s impossible. He has never seen anything quite like her, because it didn’t exist when he was alive. He’s never seen skin colored like night lights, and he doesn’t even think he’s seen eyes such a bright shade of teal.
And still her eyes feel like someone else staring back at him, and this feeling is so unsettling that it threatens to stoke that ember of anger that currently lays quiet in his chest. He is afraid of what will happen if he manages to piece it all together – afraid that he will want to kill her or keep her or both.
Afraid that he will have rid himself of one obsession only to find himself ensnared by another.
“Life and death are both miserable, one of them just lasts a lot longer,” he says flatly, though it is punctuated with an unamused laugh. “Or at least, it was supposed to.”
She moves closer, and he notices how she seems to pull the starlight with her, like it is attached to her by invisible threads. For a moment the apathy in his eyes is interrupted by curiosity, unable to recall if he had ever witnessed magic when he was alive before. It had existed, but it was a rarity. He watches her with a newfound fascination, this girl colored like the northern lights and seemingly the ability to bend the stars to her whim, and again he wonders who she is. He is careful to shadow it, though, his face still smooth and unreadable, and the only glimmer of light comes at the crooked grin that accompanies his answer to her question. “If I shared them they’d no longer be secrets then.”
Something in her face that feels like he has seen it before, even though he knows it’s impossible. He has never seen anything quite like her, because it didn’t exist when he was alive. He’s never seen skin colored like night lights, and he doesn’t even think he’s seen eyes such a bright shade of teal.
And still her eyes feel like someone else staring back at him, and this feeling is so unsettling that it threatens to stoke that ember of anger that currently lays quiet in his chest. He is afraid of what will happen if he manages to piece it all together – afraid that he will want to kill her or keep her or both.
Afraid that he will have rid himself of one obsession only to find himself ensnared by another.
“Life and death are both miserable, one of them just lasts a lot longer,” he says flatly, though it is punctuated with an unamused laugh. “Or at least, it was supposed to.”
She moves closer, and he notices how she seems to pull the starlight with her, like it is attached to her by invisible threads. For a moment the apathy in his eyes is interrupted by curiosity, unable to recall if he had ever witnessed magic when he was alive before. It had existed, but it was a rarity. He watches her with a newfound fascination, this girl colored like the northern lights and seemingly the ability to bend the stars to her whim, and again he wonders who she is. He is careful to shadow it, though, his face still smooth and unreadable, and the only glimmer of light comes at the crooked grin that accompanies his answer to her question. “If I shared them they’d no longer be secrets then.”
Dacian