Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
She just gives him a look, eyebrows raised slightly, as if he’s missing the important bit. ”You are. But isn’t it possible to know the core of you and still be surprised by the details?” There would always be more to learn, more to discover. People did not stay the same, and things true now might not be true in the years to come. Yet she’s pretty sure she knows the foundations of him, the center of him, that place where all other details radiate from. At least, she has a good idea of it.
Oh, that look away from her. It may hide the blush, but she knows all the same, and she nudges him slightly with her hip as they walk, tightening her grip around his waist. ”Always?” she says with a chuckle. ”No, definitely not always.” Everyone had their moments, after all.
”Mmm, well then perhaps you are a saint. He’s driving me up a wall.” She wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she could deal with her brother’s teenagerness. Yes, that’s a word now. Though she forgets entirely about Korbin as Loren kisses her, as he presses his hands behind her back to pull her closer. The kiss is a hungry thing, satisfying and not enough all at once, that first sip of hot cocoa on a freezing day. She opens her mouth, tongue slipping forward to explore, hands still lost in his hair and along his neck. Her thumb finds his jaw, brushing against it and his ear, exploring him bit by bit.
Oh, that look away from her. It may hide the blush, but she knows all the same, and she nudges him slightly with her hip as they walk, tightening her grip around his waist. ”Always?” she says with a chuckle. ”No, definitely not always.” Everyone had their moments, after all.
”Mmm, well then perhaps you are a saint. He’s driving me up a wall.” She wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she could deal with her brother’s teenagerness. Yes, that’s a word now. Though she forgets entirely about Korbin as Loren kisses her, as he presses his hands behind her back to pull her closer. The kiss is a hungry thing, satisfying and not enough all at once, that first sip of hot cocoa on a freezing day. She opens her mouth, tongue slipping forward to explore, hands still lost in his hair and along his neck. Her thumb finds his jaw, brushing against it and his ear, exploring him bit by bit.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
