to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
Well, if he didn’t want to be here, he could always leave. The honeybee child certainly hadn’t asked him to approach, come, or irritate her with his mere presence alone. She would’ve been content with just her and Fangorn, nestled beneath branches and brambles, falling leaves and notched thorns, gazing into puddles to remember lingering, lost fragments of a time gone by. Her eyes broke away from the vision of wildflowers, her mother crouched down in a field while the twins basked within the sun, pretending to gather herbs, but instead humming a silly song – to watch as he delivered one last warning, luck that didn’t quite reach the air. She was half-tempted to wave him away, deliver a resounding click of her jaw and teeth with a whatever.
But as her gilded eyes were snatched away, she watched him, likely searching for his luxere. Speculation in the air, haphazard, reckless; quiet observations and not much else. Maybe it would drive him away, and that’d be the end of it. “Ever think you bring on your own suffering?” That in some way, he couldn’t quite march past it, stuck and absorbed, mired and marooned, left stranded by his own wiles and actions.
But as her gilded eyes were snatched away, she watched him, likely searching for his luxere. Speculation in the air, haphazard, reckless; quiet observations and not much else. Maybe it would drive him away, and that’d be the end of it. “Ever think you bring on your own suffering?” That in some way, he couldn’t quite march past it, stuck and absorbed, mired and marooned, left stranded by his own wiles and actions.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
