you must burn brighter than ever
Maybe it was the only time she’d ever be able to fly on her own – not carried by another, not bent into maelstroms, but on the winds, winds, winds, taken by the warmth and coveted in its grasp. The youth laughed, wild and carefree, led into tempests and delusions, and nothing else mattered, save for the movement of the ocean. The sea tickled her nose and pricked at her senses, combined her efforts into attention along salt spray and intermingling breezes. Inevitably, Melita moved forward, no thought into the notion or motion, no preamble, no precedence, mere impulsivity all the more, believing the semblance of her greed lurked there, resting, waiting, for her clutching hands.
--
Melita goes forward!
--
Melita goes forward!
Melita
