to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
An unbidden shudder rambled through her, phantoms pressing on her motions, and she breathed, grounding, trying not to parse amidst days where she screamed and hollered and searched to no avail; the outcries of mother simpering through their throats until they were raw and the gentle, reverent woman didn’t come, and then her sister –
His hand slid into her own, warm and inviting, settling, pushing her into earth instead of out on the specter-tethers, with only haunting, poignant interludes to guide her along things not serene. A choking rasp quaked through her lungs, and then she nodded, here too, understanding the nuances, the amiability, striving to absorb it for both their sakes. Soothed, the way a restless tempest might be absolved, for the moment, attempting to gather her wits when they shouldn’t have been gone in the first place. Foolish, ridiculous; the panic that had seared in her bones. He was fine. They were fine. They were in the labyrinth and she was strong, she was capable, she was enduring, and she would fight, fight, fight.
His thoughts and animation were enough to distract her, remembering what it was like to be both wild and forgotten, maneuvering and sliding closer with Fangorn at her heels, just as curious and inquisitive. “That’s lovely,” she peered into the new buds, into the sapling upheavals, at the threads of stems and greenery stretching through darkened thresholds and apertures. She quite liked it too – renewal, rebirth, resurgence.
His hand slid into her own, warm and inviting, settling, pushing her into earth instead of out on the specter-tethers, with only haunting, poignant interludes to guide her along things not serene. A choking rasp quaked through her lungs, and then she nodded, here too, understanding the nuances, the amiability, striving to absorb it for both their sakes. Soothed, the way a restless tempest might be absolved, for the moment, attempting to gather her wits when they shouldn’t have been gone in the first place. Foolish, ridiculous; the panic that had seared in her bones. He was fine. They were fine. They were in the labyrinth and she was strong, she was capable, she was enduring, and she would fight, fight, fight.
His thoughts and animation were enough to distract her, remembering what it was like to be both wild and forgotten, maneuvering and sliding closer with Fangorn at her heels, just as curious and inquisitive. “That’s lovely,” she peered into the new buds, into the sapling upheavals, at the threads of stems and greenery stretching through darkened thresholds and apertures. She quite liked it too – renewal, rebirth, resurgence.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
