[mature] goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Meadow (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=3) +---- Thread: [mature] goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone (/showthread.php?tid=27101) Pages:
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goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - Anonya - 06-06-2020 when you're dreaming with a broken heart The mountain shook, and the flowers in her mane and tail blossomed, and still she remains alone. She has not moved from the spot she had been in when the dust first found her, though dawn had since broke across the sky and the sun was now warming the hidden meadow she stood in. There had been a moment, briefly, where she had felt something that wasn’t exactly happiness, but perhaps a moment of contentment. A rare flutter of her once dead but eternally broken heart, a fleeting feeling of peace, and the idea that perhaps hope still existed. Perhaps hope could bloom the same way the flowers had — unexpectedly, and out of nowhere. The enormity of her grief crushes on top of her, though, heavier than gravity, because it is all she has ever known. When she had first been released from the afterlife it had still been present even if she had not had a name for it, even if she could not place why it existed. But the longer she was alive, the more the haze of death began to clear. The memories came back, one by one. Her father and the way he cruelly stolen the last of her innocence from her, in some twisted romantic display of being unable to cope with the death of her mother. The blind child of incest born from it, the one that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t love. She named her Wretch, so that the girl would know without her ever having to say it. That made it better, she thinks. To not actually say it. She remembers finding love — twice — and having it ripped away both times. She supposes that is karma. If she couldn’t love her own child, incest or not, it made sense that she did not deserve love at all. The feeling of contentment is gone just as fast as it had come, and she remains alone in this corner of the meadow, flowers woven in her hair, like some kind of mockery of who she had once been. the waking up is the hardest part ANONYA RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - plume - 06-06-2020 When he had first come through the gates—when he had first breached the shores of Beqanna once more—he had felt that strange clarity burst in his chest. He had felt the joy of it—the unmistakable way that it had radiated from his very core. To be alive again! To find a home with Agetta once more. PLUME but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - Anonya - 06-07-2020 when you're dreaming with a broken heart She cannot remember the last time she heard her name. It has been so long that she is slow to react, thinking it to be some trick of what is surely a mad and addled mind (souls are not meant to live more than once — death was not meant to be temporary, and she is so sure that every time her heart starts to beat again that irreversible damage is further inflicted). His voice comes again, though, and it is then she angles her fine head, her dark eyes turning to take in a face she did not think she would ever see again. It’s been so long that she doesn’t remember if he was the first or second to tear her apart – she can’t remember if her father raping her or Plume leaving her happened first. In the end, lifetimes later, it didn’t really matter. She almost laughs at the obsurdity of it all. That life insists on breathing itself back into her, but only so that it can reopen every wound, only so that it can remind her of everyone she has lost. Reminding her that dead or alive, peace didn’t exist. “Yes.” A single word, dropped like an anchor between them; heavy as it seemingly hits the ground, but also signifying that by responding she is not leaving, though that had been her instinct. She could have not answered and disappeared, let him think he had seen a ghost. Although, the idea is not too far of a stretch. She is, in nearly every aspect, a ghost. She looks at him with haunted eyes, with a weariness that comes from too many lifetimes of letdowns and heartbreaks — with a strange realization that she doesn’t have the energy to be happy or sad or angry at the sight of him. Just the same indifference she has felt since ending up back here. “How are you, Plume?” She says his name with a forced neutrality, makes herself say it and makes sure her voice does not waver when she does, even if inside, her false strength is trembling. the waking up is the hardest part ANONYA RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - plume - 06-08-2020 Perhaps it is death that cloaks his mind from the damage that he has done in past lifetimes. Perhaps it is merely a survival instinct that protects him from experiencing the full depth of wounds that he has inflicted. It leaves much of his former life behind a veil—trapped beneath the fog of remembering. He can only remember the softened angles of it and not the sharp edges. He remembers enough though. PLUME but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - Anonya - 06-08-2020 when you're dreaming with a broken heart She feels guilty, too, but it is hidden behind a face of almost marble. She feels guilty that she has forgotten how to smile, she feels guilty that she is not the wild and carefree girl he had known and at one point loved, and sometimes she wonders if maybe he had known this part of her existed and that was why he left. And she feels guilty for thinking that; feels guilty that there is still a bitterness that creeps at the back of her tongue when she thinks about him, because if someone couldn’t have loved her at her best, how was anyone ever going to love her now that she was at her worst. She had thought she had gotten over it. Thought she had accepted it and moved on, because she had been given a second chance at life, in a land completely separate from here. She had found someone that loved even all the broken parts of her, she had let herself dare to heal and feel whole. Now she wonders if that was all just a dream. Are dreams possible when you’re dead? She isn’t sure if it’s possible to wake up from a dream into a nightmare. “I don’t think I feel alive yet,” she confesses to him, and this time the heaviness is weighed down by a palpable sadness, lacing around every word like a noose, building itself into a knot inside of her chest. “I was alive again, once, but this isn’t it.” He asks her how she is, and she doesn’t answer at first. She angles her face away from him, staring off at some gold-lined hill in the distance, ignoring the way the breeze toys with the strands of her mane and the flowers that bloomed there. “I’m not okay, but I will be,” she says quietly, and it is an affirmation to herself as much as it is an answer to him. the waking up is the hardest part ANONYA RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - plume - 06-08-2020 Why had they fallen apart? PLUME but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - Anonya - 06-13-2020 when you're dreaming with a broken heart She thinks there must have been a time when she had wanted this – them, together. She is sure that at one point she had dreamt it, prayed for it, begged for it. She is sure when her heart first broke she had thought he would be the solution to fix it; that if it shattered apart because of him, that he would also be the only one that could piece it back together. She isn’t sure when she realized that would never happen – that you can’t heal a wound using the knife that created it. That trying to create love where it no longer existed wasn’t love at all. He apologizes, and she wishes he wouldn’t. It makes her chest feel tight, makes her heart feel like it’s trying to claw out of her ribcage so that she might not have to feel anything anymore. That she would not have to see him feel guilty for something that wasn’t his fault, because it’s not his fault he stopped loving her, and not his fault that everything continued to spiral after that. “Why are you sorry?” She means for the words to sound sharp, she wishes for them to carry an edge, but instead there is only a tired kind of softness, looking at him with melancholy lingering in her eyes. “You don’t have to do anything,” and without realizing she takes a single step towards him, ignoring the chill of the wind that stings against her cheeks and incites a shiver that crawls across her skin. “You don’t…owe me anything, Plume.” There is a heavy silence, one burdened by a sad kind of tension, before she slowly, carefully, says, “I know you weren’t happy with me, that something was missing, and you found it in someone else. You don’t have to apologize for that.” the waking up is the hardest part ANONYA RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - plume - 06-14-2020 Her words cut deeper than he would have guessed. The years have not softened the blow of his own failures and there is no quicker way for him to face it than standing here, her looking back at him. He wants to look away. Desperately wants to cast his gaze to something else, but he forces himself to stand there and watch her. Forces himself to stare into the sun that is the destruction of his own making. PLUME but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - Anonya - 06-21-2020 when you're dreaming with a broken heart She can feel that this is a mistake. A mistake because she isn’t strong enough to withstand him, is not strong enough to step away from him when he fully closes the space between them. He touches her, and if it were not for his wings across her back to anchor her to reality she would be convinced she was dreaming. But even then, she cannot remember the last time she dreamt of him — his presence alone is enough to remind her she is awake. She had clung to him for so long, to some ridiculous, foolish hope that he would change his mind and come back. For years all she had of him was dreams and watery memories, until eventually they faded. Until she died, and finally in death the fragmented pieces of her heart learned to entirely let go of him. His words, and his touch against her cheek, breaks something inside of her. “Don’t,” she says, and though it is meant to be a command, the word is spoken around a throbbing ache in her throat and it comes out choked by the tears that suddenly fill her eyes. She shifts away from him, trembling with the effort it takes to swallow the emotion and heartache that threatens to unravel her. The last thing she wanted was to fall apart in front of him, but with her heart hammering in her chest she isn’t sure she has that kind of control anymore. Tears streak her face before she can regain composure, and she tilts her face away from him as she sucks in sharp, unsteady breaths. She looks back at him, finally, and suddenly she feels like the same weak girl that was so easily overpowered by her father, and the same stupid, foolish girl that ever thought anyone could love someone so entirely damaged. She is quiet for a long moment after what he says, and though her eyes are now empty of tears her face remains damp, and she does not look nearly as stoic as she sounds when she says dimly, “I’m sure she still loves you. Everything always works out the way it’s supposed to.” She looks away from him again, her voice nearly a whisper when she adds, “It's just a storm, and storms don't last forever.” A lie, but it's a lie she has told herself a hundred times. Her storm has lasted several lifetimes now, and she has little hope for this one the waking up is the hardest part ANONYA RE: goodbye, my hopeless dream; anyone - plume - 06-25-2020 Plume knows all about mistakes. He has made so many of them—built his life on the foundation of them. He knows that this is another one, but still he runs headlong into it. He is blind with his sorrow, still gnashing his teeth with the pain the reverberates through him, and she is there. Sweet Anonya. His sweet, kind Anonya who he had torn apart with his own hunger, his own selfish heart. PLUME but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to |