Theea
one day, I'll be out of time
And I just wanna feel alive
And I just wanna feel alive
I fidget with the sleeves of my jacket, fingers tugging at the too-long fabric like they might help quiet the low buzz of frustration still crawling under my skin.
And then I spot her—Calypso.
I blink once, a little surprised, though I guess I shouldn’t be. Torchline’s not that big. Crowded, sure, tangled and loud and full of hidden corners, but not big.
She’s down by the waves, picking up a shell like she’s in the middle of a sun-blessed painting. Even with mist rolling in off a choppy ocean and clouds gathering overhead, she somehow manages to look perfect. Golden hair catching the breeze just right. A glimmer of teal in her hand. Definitely Safrin’s genes, I think. As much as I’ve come to like Jack—and I have, surprisingly—he's a llittle rougher around the edges.
Still, when she turns and heads my way, I smile and lift a hand in greeting. “Hey, Calypso.” It’s warm, honest. I tip my head, voice dipping back into something a little more familiar—dry and a touch wry. “Yep. All good. Just brooding dramatically at the sea like some windswept sailor’s ghost. Y’know, real casual beach-day energy.”
I pause, wincing a little. It falls flat even on my ears.
“Actually,” I admit, “I’m looking for a little house. One I used to live in. It’s tucked up somewhere along the shore—I know it’s close. Just haven’t found it yet.” I glance down, shifting my weight in the sand, then back to her with a sheepish kind of smile. “I love living with Soh, but I want something that's mine. And familiar.”
A pause, the corner of my mouth lifting into a crooked smile. “What about you? Out here collecting pretty shells to distract the rest of us from our existential spirals?”
And then I spot her—Calypso.
I blink once, a little surprised, though I guess I shouldn’t be. Torchline’s not that big. Crowded, sure, tangled and loud and full of hidden corners, but not big.
She’s down by the waves, picking up a shell like she’s in the middle of a sun-blessed painting. Even with mist rolling in off a choppy ocean and clouds gathering overhead, she somehow manages to look perfect. Golden hair catching the breeze just right. A glimmer of teal in her hand. Definitely Safrin’s genes, I think. As much as I’ve come to like Jack—and I have, surprisingly—he's a llittle rougher around the edges.
Still, when she turns and heads my way, I smile and lift a hand in greeting. “Hey, Calypso.” It’s warm, honest. I tip my head, voice dipping back into something a little more familiar—dry and a touch wry. “Yep. All good. Just brooding dramatically at the sea like some windswept sailor’s ghost. Y’know, real casual beach-day energy.”
I pause, wincing a little. It falls flat even on my ears.
“Actually,” I admit, “I’m looking for a little house. One I used to live in. It’s tucked up somewhere along the shore—I know it’s close. Just haven’t found it yet.” I glance down, shifting my weight in the sand, then back to her with a sheepish kind of smile. “I love living with Soh, but I want something that's mine. And familiar.”
A pause, the corner of my mouth lifting into a crooked smile. “What about you? Out here collecting pretty shells to distract the rest of us from our existential spirals?”
look mama, i can fly
