@parkerwitch.
( continued from here. )
she stopped believing in god a short while after vampires started falling in love with her before they knew her name and her first love's sister became one of them, but she does believe in narrative.
the kind that says she was on this floor before liv was and may be why liv is on this floor now, in some form or another ( she’s why a lot of things happen, in some way or another. elena’s learned to live with that, really, she has —— it’s just that living with it is scrubbing the kitchen sink a second and third time when liv’s trip to the store runs a little long, and passing luke’s grave on her way to whoever’s left her this week and saying she’s sorry, saying that liv is loved, saying sorry that that doesn’t matter much, saying she’ll try to make it matter more. )
the kind that says one day her time will come again as it always does and her fingers will recognize the curve of liv's kneecaps in the tile.
( which is technically impossible, but so is she. )
the kind that says everything is temporary, but she will love all of it anyway because she does think her eyes are bluer than the ocean ( she’s trying to think of better metaphors, but when she’s looking into them she can’t really think at all ) and does not want to sleep alone. she understands why sometimes liv has to push her away when she’s being brave; it’s just that keeping liv close is her brave, is her getting up in the morning and drinking her coffee even when her coffee doesn’t taste like much of anything and nothing else does either and going to bed knowing the next won’t be any different. it’s just that one day it will be her on this floor. and someone else will be holding her, and she will not want them. she will want someone else. she will want liv.
liv will not be there. she loves her anyway. that is her brave.
they are good to each other, temporarily, and she doesn't know how to pull liv off of the floor and dress her in warm clothes again now that winter's come around again, but she'll do it anyway. she’ll do it anyway because liv does it for her every day; the cool tile being her bed and the sun being the absence that always hurts more than any degree of abundance. the words are stupid. she knows they are as she says them. she says them anyway. it isn’t the first time she has played with fire, probably won’t be the last. wet eyes rest on her as she shakily settles in beside her, hand reaching for hers. she doesn’t have an answer for her, so instead ...
‘ i don’t know. ’ a pause before she speaks again, throat thick.
‘ i wish --- i wish i could bring him back for you. i wish i could do that. ’
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
origamiaround
2087
gamechangershow
