atlas hands

Aurelia

over the riots
above all the noise

Her own hands clutch around the softer fibers of the towel, feeling how it brushes against all of the callouses and imperfections on her palms. She glances down, watching the fresh scars on her hands. They don't seem to take on a single shape, and all she can see is the way the lightning burst through her veins, pulsing through her blood and pooling the coppery taste of it across her tongue.

And beyond that, all she can see is someone else's pain. Someone she could never get justice for now, no matter how much she projected his story onto herself, onto others. It's a weight that she's carried long enough, and as she slowly lifts her head to look at Milo through her peripheral, she knows that the choice here is to either open up to him - or close off. She can't keep toeing the line between, can't do that to him.

"I want to tell you..." her voice cracks, "I want to tell you everything." She shakes her head, rolling her jaw. "But I'm scared of that part of me. The part of me that decided to kill - that believes protecting... looks like that," her brows wrench against one another and her lips twist into a sharp frown, "but that's wrong. I'm wrong. And I've... been wrong for so long I don't think I know what's right."

through all the worry
i still hear your voice