to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
The question might’ve stunned her long enough to watch him walk ahead; not used to the motions of another in front of her, of chasing rather than being the one leading, orchestrating, bounding along, no purpose except for restlessness. Half of her thought to shrink and shrivel, losing the nymph qualities for the melancholy ones; a sigh rummaging through her lungs, passing, and billowing them away – saving face because sometimes it wasn’t worth falling through the same traps and snares time and time again.
Instead of answering right away, she followed, twisting and turning along the vines, eyes partially on the ground, and then rummaging elsewhere, thoughts not truly on the labyrinth at all. The way he’d come into the world – incubated by acorn – raised her brows, widened her gaze, and she shook her head, clearing the webs, the connotations, everything a possibility in worlds surrounded by magic and adornments. She might not have anything to express at all, save for a lifetime of heartache and lost moments. “Oh. Do – do you remember being in an acorn?” Because that was an experience not many could replicate or say they had the credentials for.
She hadn’t had a father, either, not really. He existed, but that was it. And her mother was gone, sacrificing herself for her daughters.
Then there was only Melita.
When the girl glanced back up, he was smiling brightly at her, and she was afraid she didn’t have the effervescent distinction to unleash in return. “She was kind, and gentle. A beautiful singer. Loved to laugh.” Her tone didn’t flatten, but it sunk a little, and so she strived to give it more life, to fixate on other regions and things, spiraling away from herself. “What’s yours like?”
Instead of answering right away, she followed, twisting and turning along the vines, eyes partially on the ground, and then rummaging elsewhere, thoughts not truly on the labyrinth at all. The way he’d come into the world – incubated by acorn – raised her brows, widened her gaze, and she shook her head, clearing the webs, the connotations, everything a possibility in worlds surrounded by magic and adornments. She might not have anything to express at all, save for a lifetime of heartache and lost moments. “Oh. Do – do you remember being in an acorn?” Because that was an experience not many could replicate or say they had the credentials for.
She hadn’t had a father, either, not really. He existed, but that was it. And her mother was gone, sacrificing herself for her daughters.
Then there was only Melita.
When the girl glanced back up, he was smiling brightly at her, and she was afraid she didn’t have the effervescent distinction to unleash in return. “She was kind, and gentle. A beautiful singer. Loved to laugh.” Her tone didn’t flatten, but it sunk a little, and so she strived to give it more life, to fixate on other regions and things, spiraling away from herself. “What’s yours like?”
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
