Deimos
The waiting might have been the worst portion – despite past discussions. There were always opportunities to say no and refute the aspects, to change minds, to deny and reject – patterns he didn’t want to repeat over and over again. So his eyes rounded, wondering if this was the same semblance of torture he’d devised upon her so many times before; teasing, taunting, extending the moments before hearts burst and chests cleaved fire –
But they deserved it, every inch of reclaimed adoration and fervency, segments of ardor and devotion, and he wasn’t going to forget that. Paths once rubbled and condemned, picked and nurtured, soothed and assuaged, by their own resolve and determination, a surefire tenacity in minds and generosities. Healing themselves and one another, remembering, recalling, recollecting that lost moments weren’t gone forever, and there were always, always, always new ways to forge, so long as they could see above the water, over the grounds. Slow, methodical, and overcoming, until they were boundless factions.
At her tears his eyes widened, briefly panic-stricken, before reality crashed and she was nodding and he shook his head all the same, pondering whether to burst into laughter from relief or simply wipe her tears away. He did both, thumb padding along the incline of her lids, never worth crying over, before she succumbed and they were intertwined, whispers in between fervor and passion. No more doubts, no more wonderings, no more perplexities of apprehension clouding figments; the declarations sealed. “Good,” he relented eventually on another grin, when he could part ways for a breath, a snort, a billow across sanctions of skin. Pausing, not wanting to break the earnestness or the zealous rush, he sank into fractions more, before the smile yielded again. “Can I show you what it does?”
But they deserved it, every inch of reclaimed adoration and fervency, segments of ardor and devotion, and he wasn’t going to forget that. Paths once rubbled and condemned, picked and nurtured, soothed and assuaged, by their own resolve and determination, a surefire tenacity in minds and generosities. Healing themselves and one another, remembering, recalling, recollecting that lost moments weren’t gone forever, and there were always, always, always new ways to forge, so long as they could see above the water, over the grounds. Slow, methodical, and overcoming, until they were boundless factions.
At her tears his eyes widened, briefly panic-stricken, before reality crashed and she was nodding and he shook his head all the same, pondering whether to burst into laughter from relief or simply wipe her tears away. He did both, thumb padding along the incline of her lids, never worth crying over, before she succumbed and they were intertwined, whispers in between fervor and passion. No more doubts, no more wonderings, no more perplexities of apprehension clouding figments; the declarations sealed. “Good,” he relented eventually on another grin, when he could part ways for a breath, a snort, a billow across sanctions of skin. Pausing, not wanting to break the earnestness or the zealous rush, he sank into fractions more, before the smile yielded again. “Can I show you what it does?”
it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites
It's the fire it ignites
