The skies are black with lead-filled rain
a morbid painting on display
a morbid painting on display
They crane toward each other as if the hope that glitters just out of reach lies in the other's eyes. A greed of its own sort; hungry for some magic fix, some pound of flesh that might equalize the scales and bring back the feeling they'd grown unknowingly addicted to. A flaw that lives in both of them, one they can't see as an enabling type.
Hope stirs less loudly, less powerfully, in the bowl of ashes that sits in Hotaru's chest. It stirs nevertheless. Threads of maybe and what if twine together - all the more fool is she, for not seeing the noose they'll make in the end.
"It can be easier to not feel those things," she whispers, the chasm in her own torso evidence that weighs heavy on her lips. "But he can choose to find a way to do that after I've restored it. After he has the choice again." Making a decision without it is like getting consent from a drunken partner, right? How can their right mind be assured? It's so easy to justify, to cling to the idea taking shape. Hotaru should be better than this. Smarter. But it has been mere days since Sunjata walked out that door, and the desperation is greater than the grace.
Pressing her forehead to Flora's, Ru closes her eyes, shoulders trembling down by centimeters to finally relax in a slope that belies her exhaustion. "Thank you, petal. For everything. You are the greatest thing to have ever come of my life." Her whisper carries the words over Flora's face in a soft caress, hardly audible beyond the combined curtain of golden hair that wraps around them. Hotaru doubts she'll be able to leave Flora's side tonight - will end up sleeping with the twins in the same bed, like age and growth had never happened - and that's just fine with her. It may well be all that keeps her together right now.
- Fin
Hope stirs less loudly, less powerfully, in the bowl of ashes that sits in Hotaru's chest. It stirs nevertheless. Threads of maybe and what if twine together - all the more fool is she, for not seeing the noose they'll make in the end.
"It can be easier to not feel those things," she whispers, the chasm in her own torso evidence that weighs heavy on her lips. "But he can choose to find a way to do that after I've restored it. After he has the choice again." Making a decision without it is like getting consent from a drunken partner, right? How can their right mind be assured? It's so easy to justify, to cling to the idea taking shape. Hotaru should be better than this. Smarter. But it has been mere days since Sunjata walked out that door, and the desperation is greater than the grace.
Pressing her forehead to Flora's, Ru closes her eyes, shoulders trembling down by centimeters to finally relax in a slope that belies her exhaustion. "Thank you, petal. For everything. You are the greatest thing to have ever come of my life." Her whisper carries the words over Flora's face in a soft caress, hardly audible beyond the combined curtain of golden hair that wraps around them. Hotaru doubts she'll be able to leave Flora's side tonight - will end up sleeping with the twins in the same bed, like age and growth had never happened - and that's just fine with her. It may well be all that keeps her together right now.
- Fin
This is the night that young love died
Buried at each others sides
Buried at each others sides
