// to the green lessons //
“Mhm,” she muttered through the water threatening to break at the back of her throat. She swallowed down a thousand other motions dragging down her features, eyes cast upon the horizon and the warm hues, trying to embody those sentiments that just weren’t illustriously held in her heart in that moment. “Very tough enamel, as you can imagine.”
His whispered affirmations and aspirations shook at her and she gave a long breath, listening to each one. “Good. It’ll keep you practicing,” was another murmur, half a laugh and the other part a shelved and dismal cry. “I’m going to take care of the Celestine and plant my gardens.” However they might spread. She bit her lip, but then fostered on, hands digging into the warm mug like a solace and a balm so she didn’t cling to something else. “Visit the Greatwood. Write letters to you.” Become stronger in a myriad of ways. Hide in plain sight amidst Stormbreak; even if it ended up being entirely on her lonesome, surrounded by pieces and pockets of people that either couldn’t help being infested, or chose to make her home their grounds of stability. But she wouldn’t be that – not for them, anyway. There’d be a crack in the enamel, somewhere, and the sun would find it.
His whispered affirmations and aspirations shook at her and she gave a long breath, listening to each one. “Good. It’ll keep you practicing,” was another murmur, half a laugh and the other part a shelved and dismal cry. “I’m going to take care of the Celestine and plant my gardens.” However they might spread. She bit her lip, but then fostered on, hands digging into the warm mug like a solace and a balm so she didn’t cling to something else. “Visit the Greatwood. Write letters to you.” Become stronger in a myriad of ways. Hide in plain sight amidst Stormbreak; even if it ended up being entirely on her lonesome, surrounded by pieces and pockets of people that either couldn’t help being infested, or chose to make her home their grounds of stability. But she wouldn’t be that – not for them, anyway. There’d be a crack in the enamel, somewhere, and the sun would find it.
Lena
// of soft, simple quiet beneath the sun //
