Theea
“Elizabeth,” I repeat, and I nod. “I met an Elizabeth that went by ’Biz’ once.” I’ve met a lot of people, and yet I don’t know anyone.
She begins walking and I fall into step beside her, thumbs hooked into both my straps. The village feels warmer now, either from the lantern light or the company. I was never made to be alone. “And I do love jam,” I reply a little absently, missing the shortbread tarts mom had sent me with.
I decide not to think about that too long, or the fact that I don’t know when or if I’ll ever have one again. I meet Elizabeth’s eye when she looks at me again. She’s really a beautiful women, and her smile is a soothing one. “I’m not from here, no,” I answer. “Just… trying to pass through. I’m not here for one of the roses, this just happens to be where I started.” Then I cringe. “Not that I don’t want to help! I do, I just… I wouldn’t know what to do with one, and I have to find my family first.”
I see it too late.
One foot already mid-step, my eyes catch on the shimmer of petals so vividly red they almost glow in the twilight. Not just any rose—A golden-thorned rose. Vi’s fucking rose.
It’s growing right out of the earth between two wooden boards of the Bodega, right in our path, right as we spoke about it.
And I’m about to crush it.
I twist mid-step with an undignified squeak, arms flailing, trying to avoid the blossom. For a terrifying half-second I’m sure I’m going face-first into the ground. But somehow—by sheer panic and maybe divine grace—I manage to stumble, spin, and land square on my ass instead.
“Holy shit,” I huff, wide eyes on the gleaming, perfect, untouched flower. “Maybe I should be flower hunting.” My wide eyes swing up at Elizabeth. “Have you been…?” Maybe she needed one more than I did. Or knew someone who might.
She begins walking and I fall into step beside her, thumbs hooked into both my straps. The village feels warmer now, either from the lantern light or the company. I was never made to be alone. “And I do love jam,” I reply a little absently, missing the shortbread tarts mom had sent me with.
I decide not to think about that too long, or the fact that I don’t know when or if I’ll ever have one again. I meet Elizabeth’s eye when she looks at me again. She’s really a beautiful women, and her smile is a soothing one. “I’m not from here, no,” I answer. “Just… trying to pass through. I’m not here for one of the roses, this just happens to be where I started.” Then I cringe. “Not that I don’t want to help! I do, I just… I wouldn’t know what to do with one, and I have to find my family first.”
I see it too late.
One foot already mid-step, my eyes catch on the shimmer of petals so vividly red they almost glow in the twilight. Not just any rose—A golden-thorned rose. Vi’s fucking rose.
It’s growing right out of the earth between two wooden boards of the Bodega, right in our path, right as we spoke about it.
And I’m about to crush it.
I twist mid-step with an undignified squeak, arms flailing, trying to avoid the blossom. For a terrifying half-second I’m sure I’m going face-first into the ground. But somehow—by sheer panic and maybe divine grace—I manage to stumble, spin, and land square on my ass instead.
“Holy shit,” I huff, wide eyes on the gleaming, perfect, untouched flower. “Maybe I should be flower hunting.” My wide eyes swing up at Elizabeth. “Have you been…?” Maybe she needed one more than I did. Or knew someone who might.
cause we waited years and years
just to make it worth the tears
to find out that we're not in this alone
so keep your head up high in these hours of the night
so when atlas drops the world on your shoulders, you still won't fall
