10-04-2019, 12:33 AM
love is really nothing
but a dream that keeps waking me
She doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at her as long as he has. Dove was far from plain, but she had began to think that maybe she was. Her family was busy and distracted, and they always seemed so ready to brush her off. When it came to strangers, she was not bold enough to insert herself in the middle of it all. And so even though dapples shone like stars across her pale sides, even though silver snowflakes laced her muzzle and a pair of strikingly dark blue eyes tried to catch their gazes, she was left feeling invisible.
When she first realized he wasn’t looking away from her, she had felt an odd sensation of pleasure. Like a flame growing in the empty, hollow portion of her chest, she felt the warmth spread inside the cavern of her ribs. But it was a brief feeling, and it soon collapsed into insecurity. She was certain the longer he looked at her he would begin to find all of her flaws. Maybe not just the physical ones, but maybe he would see how she can hardly meet his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time, or he would realize that she never knew what to say.
He would realize how someone else would make for far more interesting company.
She was trying to not look at him now, with her neck curved and her eyes watching some invisible thing in the distance. I hope that too, he says, and even though she almost dares to think that he is implying what she thinks he might be, she rationalizes that, like most, he simply must just like the snow.
But then he touches her shoulder.
With a turn of her head the endless blue of her eyes search his, glittering with confusion. A part of her thinks this might be fake; like it must be a trap. His interest, his kindness – it could not possibly be real. “Everything,” she says quietly, and with a sad sort of smile playing across her silver lips. “But mostly my family. And wondering why I’m not more...like them.” She shakes the strands of forelock from her eyes and blinks away the snowflakes, steadying her gaze on his face. “And you? Why are you out in the middle of a snowstorm to begin with?”
When she first realized he wasn’t looking away from her, she had felt an odd sensation of pleasure. Like a flame growing in the empty, hollow portion of her chest, she felt the warmth spread inside the cavern of her ribs. But it was a brief feeling, and it soon collapsed into insecurity. She was certain the longer he looked at her he would begin to find all of her flaws. Maybe not just the physical ones, but maybe he would see how she can hardly meet his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time, or he would realize that she never knew what to say.
He would realize how someone else would make for far more interesting company.
She was trying to not look at him now, with her neck curved and her eyes watching some invisible thing in the distance. I hope that too, he says, and even though she almost dares to think that he is implying what she thinks he might be, she rationalizes that, like most, he simply must just like the snow.
But then he touches her shoulder.
With a turn of her head the endless blue of her eyes search his, glittering with confusion. A part of her thinks this might be fake; like it must be a trap. His interest, his kindness – it could not possibly be real. “Everything,” she says quietly, and with a sad sort of smile playing across her silver lips. “But mostly my family. And wondering why I’m not more...like them.” She shakes the strands of forelock from her eyes and blinks away the snowflakes, steadying her gaze on his face. “And you? Why are you out in the middle of a snowstorm to begin with?”
Dove