to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
They were running – footsteps beating against solid wood, and she couldn’t help but notice, but hear, but follow, taking up her staff, her quiver, her fire and vehemence, hoping something else hadn’t occurred or happened outside these walls. It was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be okay. It was supposed to be better than last year.
Her heart beat with an anthem to vitriol and acrimony, coating her lungs, bestial, barbaric, twisting and turning as she too ran outside, gave zero thoughts to what the world would be like beyond apertures and thresholds, things that were special and sacred and sanctums – pushing past confines and rushing out into the void. She didn’t pause, she didn’t stop, she did nothing but open her mouth and hum along with the rest, beside an enormous purple deer (didn’t think anything of it, not anymore), matching pitch and tune to Jigano’s stanzas and refrains, striving to coax the luxere for something, pure of heart and mind and soul.
Her heart beat with an anthem to vitriol and acrimony, coating her lungs, bestial, barbaric, twisting and turning as she too ran outside, gave zero thoughts to what the world would be like beyond apertures and thresholds, things that were special and sacred and sanctums – pushing past confines and rushing out into the void. She didn’t pause, she didn’t stop, she did nothing but open her mouth and hum along with the rest, beside an enormous purple deer (didn’t think anything of it, not anymore), matching pitch and tune to Jigano’s stanzas and refrains, striving to coax the luxere for something, pure of heart and mind and soul.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
