MELITA
Melita expected very little, and still strove very hard, quick, light movements across and along the water, enamored, enraptured, wide-eyed, and amazed. She was the picture of recklessness and rash conjectures, a wild, untamed, unabashed thing, made from fire and embers, made from coal and ashes, once stirred by song and melody. It’s their celebration, it’s their motions, chaotic, savage, and free that pulled and pulsed within her: she wanted to snag vivacity too, ring it down in her temerarious endeavors, piece together broken filaments and become whole along the sacred grounds. These were not her mother’s precious lullabies or her sister’s lovely, intricate hums, they were ether and elements, strands of pearls and opals, watery fixations on streams and hems. She watched, just like the others, her dance within the river, an undulation of chaotic, bedlam upheaval, mere and reverberations of their perfections, seemingly innocuous, nothing.One of the wisps broke away from its pack, gliding along ripples and currents, and she was delighted to witness its progress and process too – until it stopped before her, a puff of air, a glimmer of grandeur, of opulence, of fey sonnets and stanzas she’d never be able to possess. Her mouth agape, her jaw slackened, her gilded eyes fixated on its sanction, she’d never dreamed of being offered a gift, an extension of nymphs and naiads; stunned, all the more, as it fell before her, and into the water. “For me?” She stammered, the boldness driving a firm frenzy in her heart, and she dove, dove, dove, deep down into the fathoms, hands reaching out for the delicate anklet of shell and stones, desperate to salvage whatever life had to give her, whatever it deigned to throw her way. Her hands grasped, clenched, grabbed it, and she returned to the surface on a steady inhale, on a whimsical, ebullient, enthusiastic smile, unbidden and liberated, released from her impeccable haze. “Thank you!” It was a roar, it was a howl, it was a beating blend of her heart and lungs; for your kindness, the expression not enough to convey the sentiments floating through her - and the celebration curled, coiled around, drums ricocheting off her chest. All was not lost.
{Thank you admin! <3}
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
