06-21-2020, 01:03 AM
when you're dreaming with a broken heart
Night falls, and she finally moves from the meadow. She follows the moonlight when she can, and then the river when the clouds cause the silver trail to go into hiding. She has always found a kind of solace in the night, ever since she was a child. She used to think it was because of the stars, because what young girl didn’t love looking up into an endless expanse of glittering lights? A sky full of wishes, a sky full of dreams. It’s hard to believe she had ever been that innocent.
Now she knows it’s because in the dark she does not have to pretend to be anything.
She does not have to pretend to be alive.
She does not have to pretend to not be broken.
In the dark she can unravel, she can splinter and shatter, and she does not have to rebuild until dawn breaks and sunlight finds her again.
She holds herself together tonight. For now, at least. She keeps herself trapped in a safety net of numbness, refusing to fall apart until she knows she is entirely alone. She holds herself together by the same thin threads as always, but after her encounter with Plume she is hyper-aware of what other ghosts of her past might be out to haunt her tonight.
It’s why she almost ignores him when she sees him. If the moonlight had not caught the red and gold of him she might have not seen him at all, but instead a beam is cast upon him like a spotlight. Colored like a sunset, in the dead of night, with the river surging at his knees.
She stops at the edge of the bank, her own skin unnaturally pale in the moonlight, the flowers woven into her mane and tail curled closed. “Hi,” is all she says, her quiet voice further hushed by the sounds of the river. She doesn’t say anything else; does not ask him who he is, or what he is doing standing in the middle of the river. She just watches him, silent and waiting.
Now she knows it’s because in the dark she does not have to pretend to be anything.
She does not have to pretend to be alive.
She does not have to pretend to not be broken.
In the dark she can unravel, she can splinter and shatter, and she does not have to rebuild until dawn breaks and sunlight finds her again.
She holds herself together tonight. For now, at least. She keeps herself trapped in a safety net of numbness, refusing to fall apart until she knows she is entirely alone. She holds herself together by the same thin threads as always, but after her encounter with Plume she is hyper-aware of what other ghosts of her past might be out to haunt her tonight.
It’s why she almost ignores him when she sees him. If the moonlight had not caught the red and gold of him she might have not seen him at all, but instead a beam is cast upon him like a spotlight. Colored like a sunset, in the dead of night, with the river surging at his knees.
She stops at the edge of the bank, her own skin unnaturally pale in the moonlight, the flowers woven into her mane and tail curled closed. “Hi,” is all she says, her quiet voice further hushed by the sounds of the river. She doesn’t say anything else; does not ask him who he is, or what he is doing standing in the middle of the river. She just watches him, silent and waiting.
the waking up is the hardest part
ANONYA
@[elio]