reapingcrescent:
âA rose.â he repeated, as if to confirm. He had only experienced what grew by the shore, thus what usually had a higher salt tolerance. He didnât know their names, only what they had looked like; he supposed it didnât matter. They were just flowers.
But they felt different under his fingers.
âIt is a peculiar bloom, compared to those where Iâve been dwelling.â He supposed, of course, that somehow heâd been lost in thought ever since his return, in a constant state of dreaming, but not dreaming. Ever since he couldnât hear her anymore.
He was empty. A void to be filled.
âThey are very pretty, but you have to be careful because they have thorns. They hurt if you touch them.â She accidentally stuck herself on one of the thorns before. Her finger had bled a little bit but it wasnât anything that had hurt her too bad. It had surprisingly healed almost as soon as she got the bleeding to stop.
âDo you live here? By the beach? It is so pretty here. The water is very clear and beautiful.â Not to mention the breeze felt wonderful. It made her long silver hair blow and swirl around her shoulders.Â
âI am not used to the beach.â













