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Your movements are slow, steps heavy and reluctant as you descend from your mountains, clasped between your teeth lay long stems of stark white flowers, their smell sickly sweet as you breathe in. The soft spring air that envelops you as you spill into the valley, the glimmers of sun through the clouds, does nothing to wash away the chill that lingers against your skin, within your tired bones. It is easy to find your way on paths that have since been lost to the swaying grass, the vibrant wildflowers, and even easier to espy a tree with little white flowers that smell of jasmine (far too lovely for what happened beneath its branches, and yet nothing compared to her, even in death) hiding within the shadow of a mountain. You had been afraid to come, terrified of all that you would(nt) feel. That you would look upon her and find that you had no more room in your tired heart to grieve, that you would find yourself falling apart in the face of a reality that you have seen, relived, one too many times. That you would remember everything with sudden clarity, as if all of the nightmares, your waking dreams, had faded in potency over the time you have spent away from her, and you would crumble underneath it all. That you would no longer love her, as if it has ever been that fickle, that easily undone. Within your chest your glass heart quivers in its nakedness as your face grows hot and a trembling breath leaves you, your legs collapsing underneath you into the soft soil. For moments you lay still, staring blankly ahead, unable to process the shifting darkness, the aching numb, that continues growing inside of you. You can feel the stinging threat of tears in your eyes, feel as your throat begins to close, the way it becomes harder to breathe, and yet you do not cry; do not cry as memories race through your mind, as that terrible pain penetrates deeper deeper deeper, suffocating. It is only as your teeth begin to grind, releasing an explosion of bitterness that you blink in bewilderment, taking moments to remember the flowers that you had brought. You breathe out sharply as you place them against the wide trunk of the tree, frowning at the creases along their stems. “Hey, baby…” It is strange, speaking only to the sound of silence. For a long time you are quiet. Your body rests against the warmth of the earth, lips playing idly with the grass that has covered the tiny mound of upturned dirt that you had left, covered everything as if nothing had ever happened here; as if you had not lost your heart, all of those tender pieces of yourself buried with her. Even now those empty parts of you ache, ache as if they were new. “I miss you.” It leaves in a huff as you smile against all of the apologies that hang bitter on your tongue, the hurt that rages in your heart like a winter storm. “Though I’m starting to think that Rohan…” you pause, smiling quietly to yourself as a different kind of pain, of loss (it had been his choice), flares through your too-tender heart. “That he was right. You were too good for this world, all of its hate, its glaring ugliness.” You knew, even then, that it had been said to comfort you, to place the blame that had been yours—is yours (had you not been careless, too young, too hateful in the same way that you would condemn anyone else?)—on something that no one could control. It hadn’t helped then, despite all his efforts, and it does nothing to drown out the guilt, the consuming anger, that sits heavy on your chest now. “All of the things I would never have been able to protect you from.” Not from Misael and all of his blind rage, from the ruin that you found in the (had he not once been yours?) sandstone man. Not even from yourself and every shattered fragment of your life, all of the stupid things you have done, said, been. “I would have never been able to make you happy.” Your mind cannot help but wander to the boy with his ocean eyes, his young heart, all of the ways you have sheltered him when he has wanted nothing but to see, to know. All of the ways that you have unintentionally hurt him by holding him too close in fear, in love, the rift that you have created between the two of you in trying so desperately to protect him. The harsh truth that in trying to never lose him, you have only pushed him further away. “And yet…” You breathe, closing your eyes and gently shaking your head as it hangs. “Yet I still wish you were here, with me.” "That Etziel—" your voice breaks with his name, your chest constricting within the aftermath of his anger, his restlessness that you can only blame on his budding independence, your refusal to let go. "That you could have each other, so that neither of you would ever be alone, even when I'm gone." You cannot recall if your own mother had wished similar things for you and your brother, if it had made her happy to imagine all the things you would encourage each other to be. If only he hadn't died, if only she had even had a chance to live. "Wish that you could have grown, that I could have seen all that you would come to be." Would everything be different then? |
id prefer no replies but this is open if anyone feels the need <3
ps this is supposed to be in birdsong, im not several months late or anything
so pls pretend? <333
please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death
