Theea
one day, I'll be out of time
And I just wanna feel alive
And I just wanna feel alive
For a second, I think I see something—just a flicker of pale yellow through the trees. My breath catches. But when I shift for a better angle, it’s nothing. Just light on bark. A scrap of driftwood caught in some brush.
I let out a slow exhale and keep walking, the sand shifting beneath our feet, a brisk breeze tugging at loose strands of hair and pulling my jacket out behind me. Calypso’s easy to walk with. I don’t feel like I have to fill the silence, which somehow makes me want to talk more.
Her compliment catches me off guard, though, and I glance over with a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks,” I murmur, though it comes out a little skeptical. “I don’t know about good at people, I grew up mostly isolated with my parents. But they made sure I knew how to survive. Adaptability’s kind of... required for that.” I flash a grin, dry and a little self-deprecating. “I just hope I’m not constantly putting people off while I fumble through it.”
When she offers to take me out sometime—to shop or get our nails done—I blink, surprised again, but this time it lands somewhere soft. Familiar. The kind of invitation I used to watch other people get and wonder what it felt like. I brighten a little and nod, earnest.
“I’ve never really done anything like that with anyone but my mom.” I glance at her, a warm smile curling at the edges of my mouth. “It’d be really nice to hang out again. For real.”
The breeze brushes my hair across my face, and I tuck it behind one ear.
“I’m actually kind of curious about you, too.” I admit, tilting my head slightly. “I grew up on stories. That was how I understood the world. And you…” I give her a sideways look, a little grin forming. “You definitely seem like someone with a story of some sort.”
I let out a slow exhale and keep walking, the sand shifting beneath our feet, a brisk breeze tugging at loose strands of hair and pulling my jacket out behind me. Calypso’s easy to walk with. I don’t feel like I have to fill the silence, which somehow makes me want to talk more.
Her compliment catches me off guard, though, and I glance over with a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks,” I murmur, though it comes out a little skeptical. “I don’t know about good at people, I grew up mostly isolated with my parents. But they made sure I knew how to survive. Adaptability’s kind of... required for that.” I flash a grin, dry and a little self-deprecating. “I just hope I’m not constantly putting people off while I fumble through it.”
When she offers to take me out sometime—to shop or get our nails done—I blink, surprised again, but this time it lands somewhere soft. Familiar. The kind of invitation I used to watch other people get and wonder what it felt like. I brighten a little and nod, earnest.
“I’ve never really done anything like that with anyone but my mom.” I glance at her, a warm smile curling at the edges of my mouth. “It’d be really nice to hang out again. For real.”
The breeze brushes my hair across my face, and I tuck it behind one ear.
“I’m actually kind of curious about you, too.” I admit, tilting my head slightly. “I grew up on stories. That was how I understood the world. And you…” I give her a sideways look, a little grin forming. “You definitely seem like someone with a story of some sort.”
look mama, i can fly
