06-28-2020, 05:06 PM
when you're dreaming with a broken heart
It had been a mistake. She had known that it would be, she had not fooled herself into thinking it could possibly be anything but that. And yet she was still surprised at how the bitter regret seemed to linger, a bad aftertaste that refused to leave her mouth. There was guilt, too, coiled in her gut, heavy and cold. Guilt, for letting herself be weak, again. Guilt, for working so hard to move past someone that had broken her only to let a few sweet words and heated touches be enough to lure her back. She played a stupid game and she won a stupid prize, and she is both surprised and somehow not surprised at all. Mostly, she is surprised that a wound that had once been healed could hurt just as badly as the first time, when it was reopened.
She had no one to blame but herself. No matter how badly she wanted to blame Plume, no matter how badly she wanted this sorrow to spark to rage, there was nothing. Nothing but an aching emptiness, and an icy numbness. Anger was still so hard for her to come by. It came sometimes in fleeting moments, hot and fierce, but the ashes it left behind tasted like tears, not fury.
The river continuously draws her back, and she is unsure why. She’s never felt a particular connection to it before, and yet every time her thoughts felt too loud, every time that vibration in her veins felt like too much, this was where she found herself. Maybe it was because the sound of water rushing over rocks drowned out her mind; drowned her mistakes, drowned her heartache, drowned everything. It lulled her into a strange sense of apathy, where she didn’t have to feel anything at all.
But when she arrives today there is someone else there. She pauses, hesitating, deliberating. She cannot see his face completely, since he stares straight ahead, but she can see the tautness of his jaw, and the way his ears flatten. Something tells her to walk away, to leave him to his anger and whatever else he feels, because she knows sometimes that’s all she wants, is to be alone. She also knows that sometimes all she wants is for someone to ignore the walls she has erected, to break them down despite the way she might resist.
She wants someone to save her, even if she could never admit that.
“Hi,” she says softly, not quite next to him, but close enough. A cool breeze lifts the tangled locks of her mane and stirs the flowers that blossom there, and she finds that even though she wants to be here, even though she wants to look more closely at the way the sun reflects off his green eyes, she instead focuses on the river. Her heart feels like a knot inside of her chest, and against her better judgement she confesses, “I’m sorry, if you wanted to be alone. But I don’t think I want to be.”
She had no one to blame but herself. No matter how badly she wanted to blame Plume, no matter how badly she wanted this sorrow to spark to rage, there was nothing. Nothing but an aching emptiness, and an icy numbness. Anger was still so hard for her to come by. It came sometimes in fleeting moments, hot and fierce, but the ashes it left behind tasted like tears, not fury.
The river continuously draws her back, and she is unsure why. She’s never felt a particular connection to it before, and yet every time her thoughts felt too loud, every time that vibration in her veins felt like too much, this was where she found herself. Maybe it was because the sound of water rushing over rocks drowned out her mind; drowned her mistakes, drowned her heartache, drowned everything. It lulled her into a strange sense of apathy, where she didn’t have to feel anything at all.
But when she arrives today there is someone else there. She pauses, hesitating, deliberating. She cannot see his face completely, since he stares straight ahead, but she can see the tautness of his jaw, and the way his ears flatten. Something tells her to walk away, to leave him to his anger and whatever else he feels, because she knows sometimes that’s all she wants, is to be alone. She also knows that sometimes all she wants is for someone to ignore the walls she has erected, to break them down despite the way she might resist.
She wants someone to save her, even if she could never admit that.
“Hi,” she says softly, not quite next to him, but close enough. A cool breeze lifts the tangled locks of her mane and stirs the flowers that blossom there, and she finds that even though she wants to be here, even though she wants to look more closely at the way the sun reflects off his green eyes, she instead focuses on the river. Her heart feels like a knot inside of her chest, and against her better judgement she confesses, “I’m sorry, if you wanted to be alone. But I don’t think I want to be.”
the waking up is the hardest part
ANONYA
