She moves slowly, carefully.
As if she does not trust the shadows not to hold dark things still.
(Sometimes the chest still aches with the memory of that day by the river, the day spent bleeding, leaned against a dream boy, counting stars.)
She has avoided the meadow. So diligently, she has skirted past its edges. It was here that the world had gone dark as she’d walked away from the only friend she’d ever had, his expression stern when he’d told her they’d never been friends.
(Is the heart the reason that the memories are so vivid? They remain far longer than she’d like them to sometimes, lingering just at the fringes, always ready to come creeping back in. Because the heart has such a tremendous capacity for pain and what better catalyst than memories?)
But it is silly, she thinks, to blame a whole place for one bad thing that happened there. So, she tests it. (Foolish, she thinks, the way her heart thunders in her chest as she walks deeper into that knee-high grass.) She will make it a place where good things happen, a happy place.
She approaches the first soul she happens across, not only because she reminds her of the dream boy who’d found her by the river but because she does not trust herself to venture any further into the meadow.
“You remind me of someone I knew once,” she muses, smiling.
As if she does not trust the shadows not to hold dark things still.
(Sometimes the chest still aches with the memory of that day by the river, the day spent bleeding, leaned against a dream boy, counting stars.)
She has avoided the meadow. So diligently, she has skirted past its edges. It was here that the world had gone dark as she’d walked away from the only friend she’d ever had, his expression stern when he’d told her they’d never been friends.
(Is the heart the reason that the memories are so vivid? They remain far longer than she’d like them to sometimes, lingering just at the fringes, always ready to come creeping back in. Because the heart has such a tremendous capacity for pain and what better catalyst than memories?)
But it is silly, she thinks, to blame a whole place for one bad thing that happened there. So, she tests it. (Foolish, she thinks, the way her heart thunders in her chest as she walks deeper into that knee-high grass.) She will make it a place where good things happen, a happy place.
She approaches the first soul she happens across, not only because she reminds her of the dream boy who’d found her by the river but because she does not trust herself to venture any further into the meadow.
“You remind me of someone I knew once,” she muses, smiling.
@[Harlotte]