but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
The honeybee wondered about the weight of apologies – if they were vows to pass on a whimsical, mercurial feat, how much power they held, or if they only mattered when the behavior had changed. If it would remain to be seen, all this discussion, all this talk, of reaching out and ceasing to forget she existed. Her brows furrowed at his explanation, because it didn’t make sense to her. He hadn’t tried anything with her except the shift of pushing away, away, away – which was why she’d felt like a piece of dust, a little speckle of ash, nothing but a form on the tide, cast aloft upon the sea and naught to be bothered with. Even when she’d always been there, right from the beginning, before Nate and Hotaru and Vai and thousands of other stances and stanzas.
Melita had never given up on her family. Not until it was too late and she wasn’t enough, and then there were only figments, memories, songs, about them. And maybe she was afraid that was going to be her too – a cinder fondly remembered, and then forgotten, burnt out when no one noticed.
And it was difficult to watch him become immersed in one stupefying thing after another. To reach out and be tossed. Because then, eventually, she too would cease. She’d drift away. She’d disappear. Not wanted. Not needed. An insipid irritation, a nettle, a thorn, the world, and those she cherished, could easily do away with. “You’re not going to control me,” she whispered, head shaking, wild locks tossed back and forth, pieces and kindling of some other fires. A promise, a warning – she was her own person, with her own choices, her own vices, her own flaws. But they were still family, and she’d attempted to be there. “I only ever wanted to help.” Between those measures of quick, volatile anger, tempestuous edges and flares.
She breathed too, tried to stifle the cinders threatening to burst over her throat. It was a start, and she’d have to take what she could. “Okay.” A swallow, another inhale, exhale. “I asked Ludo for something to deter the ghost whales, so hopefully we can get further this time.”
Melita had never given up on her family. Not until it was too late and she wasn’t enough, and then there were only figments, memories, songs, about them. And maybe she was afraid that was going to be her too – a cinder fondly remembered, and then forgotten, burnt out when no one noticed.
And it was difficult to watch him become immersed in one stupefying thing after another. To reach out and be tossed. Because then, eventually, she too would cease. She’d drift away. She’d disappear. Not wanted. Not needed. An insipid irritation, a nettle, a thorn, the world, and those she cherished, could easily do away with. “You’re not going to control me,” she whispered, head shaking, wild locks tossed back and forth, pieces and kindling of some other fires. A promise, a warning – she was her own person, with her own choices, her own vices, her own flaws. But they were still family, and she’d attempted to be there. “I only ever wanted to help.” Between those measures of quick, volatile anger, tempestuous edges and flares.
She breathed too, tried to stifle the cinders threatening to burst over her throat. It was a start, and she’d have to take what she could. “Okay.” A swallow, another inhale, exhale. “I asked Ludo for something to deter the ghost whales, so hopefully we can get further this time.”
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
