to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
Nymph-like, she pondered, only snorting softly when the squirrel squeaked, eyes only drifting towards the unknown – both stranger and snarled, tangled jungle, as they wandered closer to its midst. Melita had no real answers for him, no matter how much contemplation had gone into it. At times this world was defiant in granting solutions or remedies, caught in their woes, trials, tribulations, or the air of enigmatic qualities, leaving jumbles of confusion simply out of amusement. Sometimes that was how she viewed the deities themselves; capable of answering anything at all, and choosing not to, either by whim, caprice, or anything else entangled, embroiled, in their minds.
To him though, her voice curled along the ether, legs catching the brief snippets of breeze, creating their own gusts as they maneuvered along the void, her anklet and its surrounding charms conducting their own orchestra of soft, dulcet aplomb. “Perhaps.” After all, she enjoyed being wild and free; but no one had ever bothered to confine her. No one had ever thought to extinguish the beams of light, radiance, and audacity in her bones. No one had ever managed to disconcert her long enough to catch her before impulse, before effervescence, before treachery, lingered in her breath, in her wake, in her vestiges. “There’s always an element of danger in remaining untamed.” Maybe the labyrinth had its own webs and machinations, plants concocting to become wiry, gnarled, mangled things, so the rest of the land, the kingdom, avoided it. She spoke from experience – in watching shadows, in tracing lines, in embodying those same damned mannerisms so her family, so she, could survive. Her gaze did manage to pinpoint upon him again, but perhaps it didn’t matter now, the moments and elements passed.
To him though, her voice curled along the ether, legs catching the brief snippets of breeze, creating their own gusts as they maneuvered along the void, her anklet and its surrounding charms conducting their own orchestra of soft, dulcet aplomb. “Perhaps.” After all, she enjoyed being wild and free; but no one had ever bothered to confine her. No one had ever thought to extinguish the beams of light, radiance, and audacity in her bones. No one had ever managed to disconcert her long enough to catch her before impulse, before effervescence, before treachery, lingered in her breath, in her wake, in her vestiges. “There’s always an element of danger in remaining untamed.” Maybe the labyrinth had its own webs and machinations, plants concocting to become wiry, gnarled, mangled things, so the rest of the land, the kingdom, avoided it. She spoke from experience – in watching shadows, in tracing lines, in embodying those same damned mannerisms so her family, so she, could survive. Her gaze did manage to pinpoint upon him again, but perhaps it didn’t matter now, the moments and elements passed.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
