The skies are black with lead-filled rain
a morbid painting on display
a morbid painting on display
He frees her from any blame, and though she does not think she is entirely free of it - her lack of ability to forgive, at least, sticks out - it is a weight off her shoulders. She regrets all the same that while she is being set free into the skies with only loneliness and heartbreak as the burdens she must bear, she leaves him with far more pressing down on his shoulders in comparison. Even now she doesn't want to see him so beaten down. Hates that her own decision adds to that pain. Still, this is a necessary evil if either of them are to move on in ways that are healthy.
At least she will carry with her the love that he has given her, that he promises she will always have. An assurance of aid, of protection, is more than she had expected from them when she'd left the note as his side that morning. They've both changed for the better; it breaks Hotaru's heart to know it was because of each other. Sunjata moves closer, and the warble in his voice is met with the tremble of her lips as she nods, voice struck to nothing in the wake of the lump that rises in her throat. Calling it 'the last time' feels like a searing brand pressed to the inside of her ribs. She prays it won't be the last, even if the following touches will have to be platonic. Maybe the idea won't hurt so bad in a few seasons. Years, maybe. Hotaru hopes it will stop hurting eventually if nothing else.
She moves first, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing herself flush. Nothing held back or restrained even with their threads cut and singed between them. This is her last chance, and she will hold this memory bittersweet and close when she wakes with wet eyes and cold sheets at her side many times in the future. Hotaru stays there for as long as they both need, until the rumbling overhead finally breaks into a downfall of rain. Even then she remains, until her golden hair is slick against her cheeks, and the rain hides the few warm tears that escape. "Goodbye," she whispers as she reluctantly pulls back.
Hotaru turns away from the warmth of his arms, and she does not let herself look back as she crosses the sand, leaving Sunjata behind.
- FIN
At least she will carry with her the love that he has given her, that he promises she will always have. An assurance of aid, of protection, is more than she had expected from them when she'd left the note as his side that morning. They've both changed for the better; it breaks Hotaru's heart to know it was because of each other. Sunjata moves closer, and the warble in his voice is met with the tremble of her lips as she nods, voice struck to nothing in the wake of the lump that rises in her throat. Calling it 'the last time' feels like a searing brand pressed to the inside of her ribs. She prays it won't be the last, even if the following touches will have to be platonic. Maybe the idea won't hurt so bad in a few seasons. Years, maybe. Hotaru hopes it will stop hurting eventually if nothing else.
She moves first, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing herself flush. Nothing held back or restrained even with their threads cut and singed between them. This is her last chance, and she will hold this memory bittersweet and close when she wakes with wet eyes and cold sheets at her side many times in the future. Hotaru stays there for as long as they both need, until the rumbling overhead finally breaks into a downfall of rain. Even then she remains, until her golden hair is slick against her cheeks, and the rain hides the few warm tears that escape. "Goodbye," she whispers as she reluctantly pulls back.
Hotaru turns away from the warmth of his arms, and she does not let herself look back as she crosses the sand, leaving Sunjata behind.
- FIN
This is the night that young love died
Buried at each others sides
Buried at each others sides
