to find freedom, avelina

[isakov]

throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

He is not prone to boredom, Isakov.
But the river is quiet, the current weak, the water kind. And so his own heart is quiet and weak and kind. It is a wanderer’s heart and he makes first for the forest and then the meadow.

He is too young for nostalgia, certainly, but there is some fragile corner of his brain that hopes to catch sight of a glint of glass. A woman draped in galaxies. But he sees neither, only a landscape that rolls softly away from him. Reminds him of different times.

He moves slow through the meadow. Not in hopes that he might stumble upon them but because the heart feels feeble and he weak with it. A foolish thing, certainly. A concept that exists only in his mind, but he feels it nonetheless. It makes him weary.

Until he catches sight of something else. Neither glass nor galaxy. A deep black and bright green eyes. And that shimmering beneath the surface that he has begun to thin might be a soul. They all have it but he has not yet worked out how to examine it up close.

He is drawn to her and he goes willingly, studying her as he goes. Until he stops just short of too close, smiling a slanted kind of smile. He tilts his head and exhales a low sigh. “What a day,” he says by way of greeting, his gold eyes fixed firmly to hers, “it’s awfully quiet, isn’t it?”

isakov