MELITA
Her brows furrowed again, a similar disposition to thinking, to mulling over. Not frustration, not irritation, though both emotions were familiar, distinct, and habitual – instead it was the compelling of thought, of notions and observations to make. She couldn’t simply run in haphazardly all the time, despite the temptation. She couldn’t persist in reckless, unrelenting abandon, despite the enticement. There were orchestrations and choreography to the movements, and she only knew about half the steps – the action, the pulse, the restless energy coiled, seared, and inhabiting her form. The chaos could be contorted and controlled in a more useful manner, and that was what she was hear for; to listen to someone who knew far more about it. “Okay,” she breathed, rolling her shoulders, releasing whatever tension had bound its way into her muscles.The youth nodded, her brows no longer so knotted and entangled, watching, how his feet maneuvered, how stances altered and changed, deliberation coming to fruition. Follow through on a connection bristled amidst the clarity, and she hastened patterns of possibilities, the tangibles, the abilities, balling her first back together. The girl lunged, intending to sweep her motions into his ribs, and then do so again with the other, trying to strike from both sides, caging and boxing.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
