01-26-2020, 04:50 PM
There is a single pulse of uncertainty.
A fleeting instant where she thinks she’s done something wrong.
Because he merely looks at her and she feels her first warm rush of absolute self-awareness. It makes the nerves sing in a new way she’s never heard before and her heart shudders in the cavern of her chest when their eyes meet and he says nothing. She’s all full of kinetic energy, standing there on the precipice of something, fully at his mercy. It is up to him to turn her away or reel her in, for she finds herself hooked, line and sinker.
And then, finally (mercifully), he speaks. And her smile deepens beneath the weight of her relief. Because she is but a girl, young and naive, but still quite familiar with the bitter sting of rejection. Because sometimes they mistake her for cruel, the way the pull of her gravity coaxes them in, only so that they might come close enough to touch and come away burned. She is careful now to keep her distance so that he will not feel the tug, so that he will feel no urge to come closer.
The heart leaps and twists when he whispers her name, dropping it gingerly into the negative space that separates them. And then his own, which she files away for later use. Pentecost. She does not know what it means, but she likes the shape of it. It fits quite comfortably into folds of her brain, she finds. She will remember his name and she will remember his face but she will remember the stars most of all.
“It’s nice to meet you, Pentecost,” she says and then hastily buries whatever urge she might have to reach out and touch him so that she might know what he feels like, too. She will not burn him, she thinks mightily, she will not risk it. She will keep her distance so as to not scare him away. Because she likes the way he looks at her.
He is a child of the stars, too, he says and she cannot swallow her laughter fast enough. It bursts out of her, unbridled, and the sound glitters in those diamond eyes as she searches his face. Perhaps he is like her! Perhaps he is a thing that draws and scorches, too. She does little to try and rein in her joy, this sweet, sweet relief to have found him. Instead, she beams. She beams and she glows and she chances one tiny step forward. “Do you burn, too?” she asks. And, in it, there is hope.
A fleeting instant where she thinks she’s done something wrong.
Because he merely looks at her and she feels her first warm rush of absolute self-awareness. It makes the nerves sing in a new way she’s never heard before and her heart shudders in the cavern of her chest when their eyes meet and he says nothing. She’s all full of kinetic energy, standing there on the precipice of something, fully at his mercy. It is up to him to turn her away or reel her in, for she finds herself hooked, line and sinker.
And then, finally (mercifully), he speaks. And her smile deepens beneath the weight of her relief. Because she is but a girl, young and naive, but still quite familiar with the bitter sting of rejection. Because sometimes they mistake her for cruel, the way the pull of her gravity coaxes them in, only so that they might come close enough to touch and come away burned. She is careful now to keep her distance so that he will not feel the tug, so that he will feel no urge to come closer.
The heart leaps and twists when he whispers her name, dropping it gingerly into the negative space that separates them. And then his own, which she files away for later use. Pentecost. She does not know what it means, but she likes the shape of it. It fits quite comfortably into folds of her brain, she finds. She will remember his name and she will remember his face but she will remember the stars most of all.
“It’s nice to meet you, Pentecost,” she says and then hastily buries whatever urge she might have to reach out and touch him so that she might know what he feels like, too. She will not burn him, she thinks mightily, she will not risk it. She will keep her distance so as to not scare him away. Because she likes the way he looks at her.
He is a child of the stars, too, he says and she cannot swallow her laughter fast enough. It bursts out of her, unbridled, and the sound glitters in those diamond eyes as she searches his face. Perhaps he is like her! Perhaps he is a thing that draws and scorches, too. She does little to try and rein in her joy, this sweet, sweet relief to have found him. Instead, she beams. She beams and she glows and she chances one tiny step forward. “Do you burn, too?” she asks. And, in it, there is hope.
leonora