08-02-2020, 03:59 PM
── and i was never sure whether you were the lighthouse or the storm ──
She has so many ghosts, and she recognizes the voice of this one immediately. The familiar sound of it makes her want to withdraw further inside of herself, to some place where she does not remember being left in a seaside cave, where she had never been allowed to invent some imaginary future of what might have been. He had been the beginning of several reminders that she will not find love where it does not want to be found.
He was a ghost she had almost effectively buried, and with a new pain so bright and fresh within her chest it had been easy to think he was left in the past. Her thoughts were consumed by other things as of late, enough so that she is surprised by the very presence of him. Where had they left off? She felt like maybe he was angry at her, but her mind was an endless fog, the details lost somewhere within it.
He was another scar branded across her heart, but one that at least does not burn at the sudden appearance of him.
There is a part of her, though, that wonders what he wants. Wonders why he is here, wonders why no one seems to get tired of playing the same game with her over and over. There is a moment, so fleeting and brief, that she thinks she might finally witness a subdued version of him. That maybe that strange shift in their dynamic and the time apart would inspire a change in him, that he might offer a glimpse of what she had been asking for before.The moment is chased away by his coarse greeting, and she stifles the exasperated sigh she longs to exhale.
“Ashhal,” is all she says, her voice light, but nearly hollow sounding. “No one has ever complimented my eyes in any fashion, so I don’t expect that to change now.” There is a peculiar dullness to her voice, and something that could be called fatigue. She turns her head away from him, the wind pulling the silk strands of her hair like a gossamer curtain over the obsidian that glints in her sockets.
“Where did you go?” She asks him, plainly, this newfound numbness lending her an odd sort of strength and the ability to simply appear to not care what his answer was.
He was a ghost she had almost effectively buried, and with a new pain so bright and fresh within her chest it had been easy to think he was left in the past. Her thoughts were consumed by other things as of late, enough so that she is surprised by the very presence of him. Where had they left off? She felt like maybe he was angry at her, but her mind was an endless fog, the details lost somewhere within it.
He was another scar branded across her heart, but one that at least does not burn at the sudden appearance of him.
There is a part of her, though, that wonders what he wants. Wonders why he is here, wonders why no one seems to get tired of playing the same game with her over and over. There is a moment, so fleeting and brief, that she thinks she might finally witness a subdued version of him. That maybe that strange shift in their dynamic and the time apart would inspire a change in him, that he might offer a glimpse of what she had been asking for before.The moment is chased away by his coarse greeting, and she stifles the exasperated sigh she longs to exhale.
“Ashhal,” is all she says, her voice light, but nearly hollow sounding. “No one has ever complimented my eyes in any fashion, so I don’t expect that to change now.” There is a peculiar dullness to her voice, and something that could be called fatigue. She turns her head away from him, the wind pulling the silk strands of her hair like a gossamer curtain over the obsidian that glints in her sockets.
“Where did you go?” She asks him, plainly, this newfound numbness lending her an odd sort of strength and the ability to simply appear to not care what his answer was.
ryatah
@[Ashhal]