to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
Nothingness: while her skin crawled and itched for some sort of demolition. Loren had just as much information as she did; naught, and so she fell silent again, eyes flickering back down to the puddle once embarking over flames, over fire. It had changed again, altering its course, and in some mystifying, siren-like call, Melita found she couldn’t look away.
Then she saw her sister – twirling happily in fields of wildflowers, absorbed, enamored, unblinking at the whirlwind of tender, compassionate sentiments, expecting to hear a hum, a tune, a mellifluous swirl of color and life – when she jerked her head abruptly towards the thicket, the brambles, the bracken surrounding them. Maybe these things were just cruel, showing bits and pieces of the past, or things she could never have again. She worked hard to stifle down the gaping, swallowing, devouring weight scorching through her heart, clenching her jaw, balling her fists down by her sides, before sliding them over her knees in her little crouch. “They don’t seem to show the future.” Because Clementine would never be in it again.
Then she saw her sister – twirling happily in fields of wildflowers, absorbed, enamored, unblinking at the whirlwind of tender, compassionate sentiments, expecting to hear a hum, a tune, a mellifluous swirl of color and life – when she jerked her head abruptly towards the thicket, the brambles, the bracken surrounding them. Maybe these things were just cruel, showing bits and pieces of the past, or things she could never have again. She worked hard to stifle down the gaping, swallowing, devouring weight scorching through her heart, clenching her jaw, balling her fists down by her sides, before sliding them over her knees in her little crouch. “They don’t seem to show the future.” Because Clementine would never be in it again.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
