03-05-2018, 03:18 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
He’s handsome. She comes to that conclusion as he stares at her while she talks. It could just be a childish love for meeting the first boy her age (one that will run with her through the night and watch the sea squirrels doze under the moon) or it could be the faint rhythm of a song to be sung when they age more (a song that could be silenced easily, but for now hums beneath the quiet hush of the waves). As Wishbone decides her new friend is cute, she settles herself closer to her.
He is warm against the smooth current of the beach’s breeze. It plays with the black-and-auburn of her growing mane, twisting strands of her forelock. She closes her dark eyelids as he continues talking, enjoying the atmosphere of their night. Her heart has finally calmed from their running through the undergrowth and Wishbone feels the itching of drowsiness behind her eyes.
Amber eyes reveal themselves quickly when Trekori talks as though he has never spent a night nestled against the embrace of his parents. The times when Wishbone does sleep — though they are few and far between — are mostly spent curled against her mother’s side or even between her legs. Sometimes, if Warrick isn’t busy, she will even lay beside her father under the warm blanket of a large wing.
“Don’t you have parents?”
He is warm against the smooth current of the beach’s breeze. It plays with the black-and-auburn of her growing mane, twisting strands of her forelock. She closes her dark eyelids as he continues talking, enjoying the atmosphere of their night. Her heart has finally calmed from their running through the undergrowth and Wishbone feels the itching of drowsiness behind her eyes.
Amber eyes reveal themselves quickly when Trekori talks as though he has never spent a night nestled against the embrace of his parents. The times when Wishbone does sleep — though they are few and far between — are mostly spent curled against her mother’s side or even between her legs. Sometimes, if Warrick isn’t busy, she will even lay beside her father under the warm blanket of a large wing.
“Don’t you have parents?”