to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
The Drop had always sparked her curiosity – mainly because it was dangerous, and she was foolish, ridiculous, and enticed by the notions of terror. The latter had been immersed within her blood from a tender, young age, and she was at home in the leagues of chaos, in the ruffling of ancient, primordial bedlam, used to monsters, to mayhem, to loss, and the bewitching, eldritch attachments that came with it. So she meandered, pondered the length of its gaping maw, its cavernous reach, despite Fangorn’s hissing pleas for her not to go near the edge.
So she shrugged, sighed, and plunged along, away from the dastardly wake of the rivulet, and deeper into the surrounding confines, feet flickering into haphazard puddles left from some recent rain. The honeybee girl wouldn’t have even stopped to bother with them, had her eyes not caught the flicker of something else altogether. She ceased, turning back around to the water she’d just trod within, leaning down, closer, upon inspection – perhaps she’d found an animal to hunt, sadly underfoot until her careening.
But no – it hadn’t been that at all. She could see waves within their depths, the arcing and bowing of nature’s existence, flowing, streamlined, along its ripples, along its corners. Mesmerized, she kneeled, staring into the abyss, into the remnants of cascading water, tilting her head, pondering the entire midst. Fangorn hovered and beckoned nearby, clearly believing she’d lost her mind.
{Open for anyone!}
So she shrugged, sighed, and plunged along, away from the dastardly wake of the rivulet, and deeper into the surrounding confines, feet flickering into haphazard puddles left from some recent rain. The honeybee girl wouldn’t have even stopped to bother with them, had her eyes not caught the flicker of something else altogether. She ceased, turning back around to the water she’d just trod within, leaning down, closer, upon inspection – perhaps she’d found an animal to hunt, sadly underfoot until her careening.
But no – it hadn’t been that at all. She could see waves within their depths, the arcing and bowing of nature’s existence, flowing, streamlined, along its ripples, along its corners. Mesmerized, she kneeled, staring into the abyss, into the remnants of cascading water, tilting her head, pondering the entire midst. Fangorn hovered and beckoned nearby, clearly believing she’d lost her mind.
{Open for anyone!}
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
