COLT
I've been sleeping wide awake
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
It's like she's looking at him through a glass door every time. When they part, dust and grime settles on it, making everything obscure. She ends up squinting without even realizing, and then he'll do something that wipes it away and it's suddenly easy to see him, to find the handle and remove the pane that's in the way. Each step further in her house, each word, his sweater, his embrace. They all worked to clean it off tonight, but its the subtle brush of his fingers taking the drink that jiggles the handle for her. It feels infinitely better having him here than the enptiness from before the ruckus. That he'd come, that he stayed even without the usual shine to everything, that feels like a doorstop getting wedged in.
She's about to suggest they sit somewhere more comfortable, like the edge of the fireplace or the nest of her couch. There she could lean back in on him, find warmth without flame. Maybe convince him never to finish that drink, lingering here for the night, knowing it bleeds into multiple days.
She waits though, head tilting to hear about his work. It doesn't hit her all the way, not at first. Just sounds like more conversation, details he might not normally have given her, but then his job's not quite the same anymore. Figures he noticed the way she needed something to chew on just to keep the silence she built up here at bay, except he means to choke her with it.
A while finally breaks through the fog. Not just work, but leaving.
Everything grows tight, the way taking in too quick and deep of a breath this time of year does. It snaps too sharp in her chest, the cold twisting over into a burn. "Oh," comes the soft escape of understanding and surprise. Her thoughts pick up speed, running over top each other, but they've been racing all night over hard ground already and they're so damn tired. They stumble and spill, weary and liquor loose. "How long is a while? A week?" She can already guess the answer to that. She starts to pace back and forth along the island. "A month? Months?" She looks over for an answer but looks away just as fast, already knowing.
They've gone a week or two plenty. It always feels like that's the limit before she starts to feel mad with how often he emerges in her thoughts, but she's never actually tested those borders. He always shows up before long, either on his own or in response to her ask. She didn't realize how much he'd become a fixture in her life, but she finds herself looking for him in the horizon more often than not, always hopeful. How easily she'd taken all his visits for granted like they'd always continue, no different from inevitable nightfall.
"When? She wonders next, thoughts still spinning. She steps on a dog and the yelp startles her to a stop. "Fuck, Smooches, go lay down!" She snaps, pointing out of the kitchen. The pup slinks to a corner of two cabinets, pressing in against the edges with the utmost offense. Her gaze swings back to Vesper, the edge of her thumbnail pressing against her teeth. "I could visit you for a change," she offers, though her teeth work the inside of her cheek. Next season is the worst for her to travel, having calves and foals popping out left and right, but she could make arrangements.
She's about to suggest they sit somewhere more comfortable, like the edge of the fireplace or the nest of her couch. There she could lean back in on him, find warmth without flame. Maybe convince him never to finish that drink, lingering here for the night, knowing it bleeds into multiple days.
She waits though, head tilting to hear about his work. It doesn't hit her all the way, not at first. Just sounds like more conversation, details he might not normally have given her, but then his job's not quite the same anymore. Figures he noticed the way she needed something to chew on just to keep the silence she built up here at bay, except he means to choke her with it.
A while finally breaks through the fog. Not just work, but leaving.
Everything grows tight, the way taking in too quick and deep of a breath this time of year does. It snaps too sharp in her chest, the cold twisting over into a burn. "Oh," comes the soft escape of understanding and surprise. Her thoughts pick up speed, running over top each other, but they've been racing all night over hard ground already and they're so damn tired. They stumble and spill, weary and liquor loose. "How long is a while? A week?" She can already guess the answer to that. She starts to pace back and forth along the island. "A month? Months?" She looks over for an answer but looks away just as fast, already knowing.
They've gone a week or two plenty. It always feels like that's the limit before she starts to feel mad with how often he emerges in her thoughts, but she's never actually tested those borders. He always shows up before long, either on his own or in response to her ask. She didn't realize how much he'd become a fixture in her life, but she finds herself looking for him in the horizon more often than not, always hopeful. How easily she'd taken all his visits for granted like they'd always continue, no different from inevitable nightfall.
"When? She wonders next, thoughts still spinning. She steps on a dog and the yelp startles her to a stop. "Fuck, Smooches, go lay down!" She snaps, pointing out of the kitchen. The pup slinks to a corner of two cabinets, pressing in against the edges with the utmost offense. Her gaze swings back to Vesper, the edge of her thumbnail pressing against her teeth. "I could visit you for a change," she offers, though her teeth work the inside of her cheek. Next season is the worst for her to travel, having calves and foals popping out left and right, but she could make arrangements.
I'm tired of running from the conversations
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
