Echoes echoed in their multiplied multiverse inside her mind, thumped against the walls of her head with hollow thuds. It was that that was holding her faint, awakening attention, rather than anything else around her; that mysterious moving of the way the shadows fell, the depth of the air that they breathed (she wasn't alone), shifting the way the scents had just been perfectly wrapped around her in their sultry summery way; no more.
Her eyelids quivered.
Light filtered in the colors green and orange pressed against the insides of her eyelids when the blackness faded, the memories ran — took the echoes — but not fast. It was more of a slow-motion kind of manner that stuff moved and stuff faded, stuff grew more vivid —and then faded again. Like a colorful drop of oil slowly washing out in water. With every thud a circle grew within a circle; a little memory of the most graceful show of restlessness inside temporarity. Reflecting against a thousand mirrors. Fragments.
The floor underneath her drowsing frame was smooth, but still hard. It was not something she remembered — or should’ve remembered — or was it? Having been part of this… this...— Her eyes opened for just a moment. The climax of the blur finally realizing the actual reality of the night before. But it was like looking at a picture from afar when she tried to put all the strings together; details lost and silently forgotten in this early morning song.
What was left… What was left was the memory of their candid entwinement (the warm caress), of unsophisticated needs fulfilled.
Outside the reach of her closed-off sight there was still a movement going on and her interest in it grew as her sense of awareness did too, but still she wished no more than if he could just let their bubble of comfort and
silence... be. But the sounds of the forest brushed through her ears, somehow pushing her eyelids to stay half-open now; showing the already strange feeling reality of the world through the silhouettes of lashes.
I have yet to move… And somehow… Such an doubtful morning this already was. Maybe, instead of doubtful, it could’ve been interesting if it hadn’t been her (because she remembered) who had lifted her tail for him first. But because it was her, there was no need to think about it; her intentions. Because it was her, it was as clear as crystals "Why".
The stone underneath her body was hard, her legs bent and folded underneath her chest in an uncomfortable manner. Her nose at the end of her striped neck rested on a bed of crispy leaves. (She didn’t stop to wonder how she managed that). Even though the stiff ground had cringed its way up into her bones... She wanted to lay away the day some more. A little longer; while his warmth still pressed against her curved body; while his neck was still wrapped around her shoulders. In this nest of entwined bodies... once more.
But his head was already gone. The place it had been slowly cooling, even in the summer warmth.
And somewhere she knew she could not be stupid. She could not be a fool again. Not for love and not for desire. Not when — in all his tactless and uncomfortable quivering at her side — he so clearly wanted to leave. Not when his being, that threw shadows over this marble floor they shared, seemed to be falling apart of restlessness because of her.
… So if only she could pretend to be asleep a little longer—for if he had wanted to leave this badly he should’ve done it when the sun was still to be seen, she thought, when the birds didn’t yet cheer the morning on— just in case this would’ve been the last time. But she opened her eyes instead, as her shoulders had grown cold anyway without a second warmth to fill the hole up. And suddenly she realized it was all about that; that warmth. She realized this, as she watched the petals from outside the rotunda sway into her sight before her half-open eyes. Her irises moved up to the stained-glass ceiling. The green petals apparently also fell from the branches growing through the broken glass. They made a soft swishing sound as they crashed down onto the stone floor. She wanted to move, too, away from this pretend-cure for loneliness. Wanted to finally free herself from the greediness, but she felt like she didn’t know enough about what she would trigger when she did so. For once she had no clue.
But would she know tomorrow? Or... ever?
This is enough, she clenched her neck muscles, preparing to lift her head and turn her ears, show him that she was awake. But right at that moment that she wanted to do so, Mauja’s head returned to fill the space he had left feeling empty before, filled up what had been growing cold for what felt like years. She wanted to keep it, grab it and run; stay as still as possible and... be. 'Be', because even though it was just fickle loneliness, it was still a heart-aching bitch she did not like to see take over her emotions. So if it was like this, she didn't mind keeping pretend-curing.
But the idea of moving was still there; not in her head, but working through her body. She would’ve wanted to just keep laying here in this pretend-to-be perfect morning but nevertheless her muscles did not, not anymore —She pulled up her head, creating this awkward feeling in her throat and in her heart. And she felt a tad sorry for him, too, because he had just started to make himself comfortable again.
She turned her slightly uncomfortably curved neck, promising herself to, whatever she would see, take responsibility for the consequences of her actions. As she moved, a symphony of crunchy petals cried with her contrasting silence, hanging in her sleepy-head pearly-white mane. But her golden eyes, that looked from their corners, found his easily. They were still blue, even though last night she remembered them to be… different. Maybe because they didn’t look as big now... or something, but they still looked sad. So sad. Why? The realization that came after the thought almost made her laugh, because now that she really remembered, she had no right to ask. Again-ish.
Maybe she was just this kind of person; sucking away the pleasure and comfort out her environment, leaving only what she herself found joy in —without even caring in the end. Perhaps she should not have given him the berries… Or should not have shared… Or maybe should’ve warned him beforehand, even though it had seemed like a fun way of self-medication —Or maybe that was just what it seemed like at the time, because in the end she had basically used him from the start.
Because I am that selfish, she reminded herself again.
So as the forest sang around them, she let the silence be as it was within the wispy shadows of this rotunda, for as right now the in and outside were like two different worlds, anyway.
But she wasn't good with sadness, wasn't good with curing them either, she had discovered. She blinked her eyes, silent in their speech as well, as she turned them towards the entrance, perhaps longing to be freed. And then suddenly she thought: But maybe there has never been a "why”. Maybe, like she was selfish, he was just a sad… sad horse. She pondered about that new description for him a bit longer, compared it to the king of fireflies (the sad king of fireflies), as a few more petals fell to the floor, still making that same swishing sound when they crashed. She listened to it because there was nothing else to listen to.
“I like this place.”
…But, in the end, there were words... although to whatever 'end’ exactly? The mare was still unsure. She didn't exactly feel awkward, but she didn't feel totally comfortable either, which was perhaps caused by her guilt, mixed with her greedy sense of need. In her pondering mind, there weren't much options left for her. She couldn't leave; because she had approached him for sex, and she couldn't really stay either, because she might seem too clingy. And then there was the option for not caring about the first two options and just leave: Go about her own business, eat grass and just forget that she left him in his wasteful puddle of sadness and despair. The problem was that she couldn't do that either, because her mind, hormones and emotions had somehow realized and decided in their rare moment of unified sense this was a good moment to start caring.
So, in all the chaos that went on and about in the silly head of a normally so structured mare, it wasn't that strange that she had found refuge in watching petals fall to the ground.
But in the end decisions had to be made and it wasn't easy.
“I’m going to sleep some more,” she muttered before laying her head down on the marble once again. And with that, actually trying to tell him:
"You do whatever you want".
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