Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Red stuck to her mind easily; gave shape to fires and flames and Crimson Cataracts, where the hues all pearled and curled into the shape of ichor and mystery. A nod flickered through her, a silent promise just as earnest as all the ones who’d taken weight in her heart. Little journeys nestled into forests or pools, for purpose beyond stretching her desecration and damnation into something; for family, for loved ones, who would no longer be so near.
But the restless emotions bubbled and foamed up again when Nate cradled her face, and the tears suddenly became unbidden things, softening, saddening, lungs wanting to burst, ribcage clawing for a sentiment she couldn’t define. That things would be all right? That the world would stop changing? That everything could slide back to how it used to be?
She knew better; gods she did. It didn’t stop and cease the hurt though. “He doesn’t want me there. That’s why I thought…I thought it would be better if I sent a letter.” A sniffle rioted through, and her voice strived not to shatter or break. “You’ll always have a home here too.” Even if they believed they had to escape it.
But the restless emotions bubbled and foamed up again when Nate cradled her face, and the tears suddenly became unbidden things, softening, saddening, lungs wanting to burst, ribcage clawing for a sentiment she couldn’t define. That things would be all right? That the world would stop changing? That everything could slide back to how it used to be?
She knew better; gods she did. It didn’t stop and cease the hurt though. “He doesn’t want me there. That’s why I thought…I thought it would be better if I sent a letter.” A sniffle rioted through, and her voice strived not to shatter or break. “You’ll always have a home here too.” Even if they believed they had to escape it.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
