Flora
"It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you." Her voice is gentle, even as she shakes her head. "I just...I thought I was being clever. I got so focused on pulling it off all on my own, that...I really didn't stop to think about much of anything."
Her fingers brush the condensation on her smoothie cup, swirling absent circles in the moisture as her thoughts ripple beneath the surface—soft, shimmering, and quietly breaking apart.
When he doesn’t say he misses her back, her shoulders sag just slightly, and her smile fades like sunlight slipping behind clouds. She knows he does, or at least is fairly sure he does, not that it ultimately matters. He'll never weild the silver in his tongue the way she wants him to, nor will she ever be able to temper her impulsiveness.
Flora sniffles and clears her throat, a little too loudly, as she pushes her chair back. The legs scrape gently against the floor, not quite a goodbye, but the shape of one all the same. Some cracks don’t close, and some splinters can’t be pulled out without tearing more skin and based on the look of Jack, it isn't as though he's got anything more left to give.
"Thanks," she murmurs, flicking a glance toward him that holds all the weight of everything they couldn’t be. "For the christening tip, I mean." Her voice is light again, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
And just like that, she turns to go, leaving behind toast, sunshine, and something that still aches like love.
Her fingers brush the condensation on her smoothie cup, swirling absent circles in the moisture as her thoughts ripple beneath the surface—soft, shimmering, and quietly breaking apart.
When he doesn’t say he misses her back, her shoulders sag just slightly, and her smile fades like sunlight slipping behind clouds. She knows he does, or at least is fairly sure he does, not that it ultimately matters. He'll never weild the silver in his tongue the way she wants him to, nor will she ever be able to temper her impulsiveness.
Flora sniffles and clears her throat, a little too loudly, as she pushes her chair back. The legs scrape gently against the floor, not quite a goodbye, but the shape of one all the same. Some cracks don’t close, and some splinters can’t be pulled out without tearing more skin and based on the look of Jack, it isn't as though he's got anything more left to give.
"Thanks," she murmurs, flicking a glance toward him that holds all the weight of everything they couldn’t be. "For the christening tip, I mean." Her voice is light again, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
And just like that, she turns to go, leaving behind toast, sunshine, and something that still aches like love.
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense
why the wound is still bleedin'
why the wound is still bleedin'
Code stolen from Queen Sky
