Maea
And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die
It heals them when you die
She busied herself with the letter. Folded it carefully, placed it back into the pocket; Loren's hand on hers only made her pause briefly in the ministrations. She didn't look up at him. "Then why does it feel like I do? Why does everything feel so pointless if it's not shared with him, why is the world so lackluster and gray when he's not here?" It was true that Maea hadn't needed Sunjata before she met him, but now? How could she go back to who she were, before she realized how much better life felt when you could experience it with another person?
She tried to make herself smile at Loren's words, his offer to be the friend she needed, but it fell away again, all too quickly. If it didn't work? If this couldn't be repaired? If she had indeed lost the Flood, by being too much herself?
"Then... I suppose I will have to keep missing him," she replied hoarsely. "And stay in this gray. I did it before... should be used to it by now."
Gone was the relentless hope and fervor she had wielded on Loren when he was depressed. Her fire had been quite snuffed out, drowned, washed away, leaving behind a hollow, aching husk. There was still some small sliver of hope to cling to, that kept her going. But it was so small, and the hurdles seemed so damn hard to overcome.
"Is it really that bad, that I want him to myself? Am I that smothering, that he has to run away from me, too?"
The flavor of chamomile tea lingered on her tongue, making it very difficult to remember anything about what whiskey and cigarettes tasted like when mingled with ocean salt. Maea threw a vehement glance at the tea in the cup she had set aside, and it froze, turned into a solid clump of flower-induced ice.
She tried to make herself smile at Loren's words, his offer to be the friend she needed, but it fell away again, all too quickly. If it didn't work? If this couldn't be repaired? If she had indeed lost the Flood, by being too much herself?
"Then... I suppose I will have to keep missing him," she replied hoarsely. "And stay in this gray. I did it before... should be used to it by now."
Gone was the relentless hope and fervor she had wielded on Loren when he was depressed. Her fire had been quite snuffed out, drowned, washed away, leaving behind a hollow, aching husk. There was still some small sliver of hope to cling to, that kept her going. But it was so small, and the hurdles seemed so damn hard to overcome.
"Is it really that bad, that I want him to myself? Am I that smothering, that he has to run away from me, too?"
The flavor of chamomile tea lingered on her tongue, making it very difficult to remember anything about what whiskey and cigarettes tasted like when mingled with ocean salt. Maea threw a vehement glance at the tea in the cup she had set aside, and it froze, turned into a solid clump of flower-induced ice.
And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh
A whisper within a sigh
