07-14-2017, 12:58 AM
Ellyse
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
The sea is ravenous and unruly, with its churning waters greedily lapping at the impacted sand that lay along the shoreline, while a distant storm is thundering in the distance. For now, the sunlight is heavy, draped across the lush vegetation, but soon it will be hidden behind a thick, pluming haze, with heavy droplets of tepid rain pounding onto the moist and fertile soil. She had become used to the unusual and, at times, unpredictable weather – the temperature never fell too low, nor did frigidity ever set in the way it had in the darkness of the valley, and at worst, winter meant a wayward storm, torrential rain – and thick, writhing humidity.
She had grown to love it.
She had come to know it as her own, and she often lost herself amid the shadow of the tempest, with her broad, ivory wings outstretched with the gleam of the sun casting a shadow of her body onto the ground below. The sky was her only solace, giving her tranquility, solitude – a place to ponder her deepest and darkest thoughts; her quiet contemplation hidden within the heaviness of the clouds she slipped in and out of. Time had been unyielding, as it always had, dredging on through the minutes, the hours– the many days that had slipped away.
And yet, no amount of time could keep her from remembering the warmth of that summer night – the emotion that had welled up within her chest (once thought dead and buried, rising to the surface again), the mending wounds lay flayed open and festering, the fervid heat of his touch, the gentle comfort of his embrace in the stillness of morning.
But once morning came, she could no longer be held captive by the sheer wonder of his presence – with morning, came a heavy realization, as the shy sun peeked over the horizon and caresses his scarred flesh with its light, highlighting the serenity in his features – but underlining the darkness around his eyes. Wounded, broken – he did not need her in his life; she was a broken thing. A broken, unstable entity, wild and free. She deserved nothing, and no one, and had begun to believe that happiness was nothing but a fleeting figment of the imagination.
She deserved no such myth.
He deserved so much more.
Was that not always the way?
And even though her weary, fragmented heart had never felt anything like it had that evening, she had forced herself to pry herself away from him before dawn made itself known – she had quietly slipped away into the thicket, and once more to the volcanic island that she called her own. She had disappeared before she could be any more vulnerable to him than she already had been. Before he had the opportunity to hurt her – before she had the opportunity to hurt him.
Yet, when the deep auburn of his skin glimmers beneath the bright sunlight (outlining his figure – still too slim, still too gaunt), she is captive once more – and her heart, thumping roughly in her chest, is instantly in a frenzy, as her broad winged appendages tilt forward and carrying her to the ground once more. He is waiting along the shore, silent, but steady – and her breath is caught in her throat, even as her slender legs catch her landing and carry her a few paces closer to him as her wings press against her sides, concealing the slight swell of her barrel.
And even though every piece and part of her, vulnerable again, is wracked with uncertainty, there is a warmth within her hazel eyes, desperately searching the hardened plane of his handsome face, the thin line of his whiskered lips, the faint gleam of light in his eye, and she breathes quietly, ”Ledger.”
You found me, she doesn’t say.
Perhaps it was not her he was looking for at all.
She had grown to love it.
She had come to know it as her own, and she often lost herself amid the shadow of the tempest, with her broad, ivory wings outstretched with the gleam of the sun casting a shadow of her body onto the ground below. The sky was her only solace, giving her tranquility, solitude – a place to ponder her deepest and darkest thoughts; her quiet contemplation hidden within the heaviness of the clouds she slipped in and out of. Time had been unyielding, as it always had, dredging on through the minutes, the hours– the many days that had slipped away.
And yet, no amount of time could keep her from remembering the warmth of that summer night – the emotion that had welled up within her chest (once thought dead and buried, rising to the surface again), the mending wounds lay flayed open and festering, the fervid heat of his touch, the gentle comfort of his embrace in the stillness of morning.
But once morning came, she could no longer be held captive by the sheer wonder of his presence – with morning, came a heavy realization, as the shy sun peeked over the horizon and caresses his scarred flesh with its light, highlighting the serenity in his features – but underlining the darkness around his eyes. Wounded, broken – he did not need her in his life; she was a broken thing. A broken, unstable entity, wild and free. She deserved nothing, and no one, and had begun to believe that happiness was nothing but a fleeting figment of the imagination.
She deserved no such myth.
He deserved so much more.
Was that not always the way?
And even though her weary, fragmented heart had never felt anything like it had that evening, she had forced herself to pry herself away from him before dawn made itself known – she had quietly slipped away into the thicket, and once more to the volcanic island that she called her own. She had disappeared before she could be any more vulnerable to him than she already had been. Before he had the opportunity to hurt her – before she had the opportunity to hurt him.
Yet, when the deep auburn of his skin glimmers beneath the bright sunlight (outlining his figure – still too slim, still too gaunt), she is captive once more – and her heart, thumping roughly in her chest, is instantly in a frenzy, as her broad winged appendages tilt forward and carrying her to the ground once more. He is waiting along the shore, silent, but steady – and her breath is caught in her throat, even as her slender legs catch her landing and carry her a few paces closer to him as her wings press against her sides, concealing the slight swell of her barrel.
And even though every piece and part of her, vulnerable again, is wracked with uncertainty, there is a warmth within her hazel eyes, desperately searching the hardened plane of his handsome face, the thin line of his whiskered lips, the faint gleam of light in his eye, and she breathes quietly, ”Ledger.”
You found me, she doesn’t say.
Perhaps it was not her he was looking for at all.
head of war of tephra
daughter of elysium & speck
daughter of elysium & speck