it's just a little white lie, adna

[adna]

I will commit my soul to your door tonight, and I'll last 'til the gas fumes float on higher

Their peace is a fragile, beautiful thing and if she was not so scared of it, she might be in awe of it. Because the calm between the storms of them has always been so beautiful, so ravaged. They have found themselves to be so good at being their own tempest. They have found themselves to be so good at destroying their own lives before outside forces can do the work for them, and she is not sure that she can trust their natures to fight against what comes so naturally to them—to keep it wholly at bay.

Still, when she loses herself in the deep waters of his eyes, she knows that she will try.

When he steps forward and draws her close, she folds into him. She presses into the caverns of his body and finds that they are familiar, they are home, and she exhales as if she has been holding her breath for months—and maybe she has. “Beth,” she exhales slowly, purposefully, feeling the way that the earth feels so right when she is next to him like this, when his mouth is against her and she can feel his breath.

And when he admits his love, it is the first time he says it without an explanation or a disclaimer, and her own heart neat collapses like a dying star. It is like a wave that rushes over her, through her—rearranging the columns of her being and molding it into the likeness of him. She holds her breath now as if she could capture this moment and keep it pressed against her chest forever. As if she could preserve it.

But the words do not hold themselves back.

Before she can stop them, she is leaning up to press a kiss to his neck, his jaw, his poll. “I love you too,” she manages and then laughs, a delighted sound that ripples through her. “So very much.”

in a dying love I'm nothing but a stone cold liar but, oh, I got an iron in that fire

Adna