.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-31-2013, 09:24 AM
I was alone. We were alone.
No, no, we were not. I could feel it – taste it in the air. This was another of those lands; those that had that all-embracing touch of something within it, burrowing inside the crust of the earth, spewing through lava and ice.
Still, I did not care.
There was very little I cared for.
There was more I cared for than I expected, but these things, I told no one – only him.
Sometimes, though, some part of me wanted to coat myself in ice, to wrap myself in it, to close myself within it. Once I had fire, once I had ice, now I had nothing (I had everything), but some habits are hard to let go. Some habits. Some places, even.
The tundra was welcome, it was familiar in all the ways it wasn’t, and I let the ice burrow through my skin, even in the height of summer (I do not care what they label it; summer is summer, the earth answers to no one and nothing but its own motion), pinpricks of cold – refreshing – delightful.
It had been too long.
I breathed in; I breathed out.
Some part of me unclenched. It had been too long, indeed.
I missed her.
(Wait, what?)
She would have liked this place, I think (I hoped); even these withered grasses and smallish, unassuming blooms; I had a feeling she would enjoy this.
Heh.
Maybe that was just wishful thinking.
It was sunrise; the world glowed. I was not one given to wonder, but even then I felt it, stuttering inside me – that elusive, shriveled thing my brother would deem my heart.
Heh. So unlike me, to be so – what, romantic?
As if.
No, no, we were not. I could feel it – taste it in the air. This was another of those lands; those that had that all-embracing touch of something within it, burrowing inside the crust of the earth, spewing through lava and ice.
Still, I did not care.
There was very little I cared for.
There was more I cared for than I expected, but these things, I told no one – only him.
Sometimes, though, some part of me wanted to coat myself in ice, to wrap myself in it, to close myself within it. Once I had fire, once I had ice, now I had nothing (I had everything), but some habits are hard to let go. Some habits. Some places, even.
The tundra was welcome, it was familiar in all the ways it wasn’t, and I let the ice burrow through my skin, even in the height of summer (I do not care what they label it; summer is summer, the earth answers to no one and nothing but its own motion), pinpricks of cold – refreshing – delightful.
It had been too long.
I breathed in; I breathed out.
Some part of me unclenched. It had been too long, indeed.
I missed her.
(Wait, what?)
She would have liked this place, I think (I hoped); even these withered grasses and smallish, unassuming blooms; I had a feeling she would enjoy this.
Heh.
Maybe that was just wishful thinking.
It was sunrise; the world glowed. I was not one given to wonder, but even then I felt it, stuttering inside me – that elusive, shriveled thing my brother would deem my heart.
Heh. So unlike me, to be so – what, romantic?
As if.
