AURELIA
and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
He looked back on her and she could feel his bronze eyes grace across her skin, examining, dissecting, seeking something he understood. She'd always been the pinnacle of strength; keeping her chin up, baring her teeth, shouldering the obstacles. She'd lived life on the highs and the lows of never letting anything get the best of her. Pain was felt in the shadows of her heart, locked away and the key thrown away long ago. Treasured memories existed only in what she'd had left but, now those were corrupted, frayed, fractured... by nothing less than the reality that spread out before her.
But the sand was warm and soft against her skin. It welcomed her to these new oceans and the stars beckoned her to new heights. A bittersweet surrender in the flutter of her jawline as it slacked. Only Milo was there to witness her swallow her tears, blinking the fuzzy glaze away in a futile attempt at keeping some veneer of strength.
The feel of his calloused fingers seeking out her fist, to unravel its hard lines with his own, made her start. Her green gaze, heavy, turned towards their hands. She resisted at first. Although she didn't pull away, she kept clenching her fingers against her palm so that the nails cleaved against her own callouses. She felt the history buried in the scars, envisioned the scraps from school. Kids speaking on things they didn't know, picking at her and her sisters, until she'd had enough. The swing of her hands against their ignorant flesh. The swing of the pickaxe against the walls of the mines. The swing of a blade against...
Her eyes darted up to Milo. We're all survivors. Her fist unclenched and she smoothed her hand along his own, their fingers passing slowly at first. Then, in one swift motion, she grabbed his wrist and gathered him closer so that their arms wound and the tips of their noses leaned toward one another. She didn't leave room for him to resist, the strength in her pull an irresistable surge of energy. It was rough but at the same time a carefully calculated swoop, not meant to hurt or scare but to reign him into her secure grasp.
"Don't run from me?" The words came out in a whisper, ushered delicately against his lips.
But the sand was warm and soft against her skin. It welcomed her to these new oceans and the stars beckoned her to new heights. A bittersweet surrender in the flutter of her jawline as it slacked. Only Milo was there to witness her swallow her tears, blinking the fuzzy glaze away in a futile attempt at keeping some veneer of strength.
The feel of his calloused fingers seeking out her fist, to unravel its hard lines with his own, made her start. Her green gaze, heavy, turned towards their hands. She resisted at first. Although she didn't pull away, she kept clenching her fingers against her palm so that the nails cleaved against her own callouses. She felt the history buried in the scars, envisioned the scraps from school. Kids speaking on things they didn't know, picking at her and her sisters, until she'd had enough. The swing of her hands against their ignorant flesh. The swing of the pickaxe against the walls of the mines. The swing of a blade against...
Her eyes darted up to Milo. We're all survivors. Her fist unclenched and she smoothed her hand along his own, their fingers passing slowly at first. Then, in one swift motion, she grabbed his wrist and gathered him closer so that their arms wound and the tips of their noses leaned toward one another. She didn't leave room for him to resist, the strength in her pull an irresistable surge of energy. It was rough but at the same time a carefully calculated swoop, not meant to hurt or scare but to reign him into her secure grasp.
"Don't run from me?" The words came out in a whisper, ushered delicately against his lips.
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
when you're ready to sleep
