HE IS A THING OF MYTH, old religion’s tale of caution —— both the sun & the sea, all encompassing; burn the adventurous, swallow them whole; lay them to rest beneath shifting tides ( mistaking your splendor for sanctuary ; their undoing, their descent, their tomb ). He is what mothers whisper to their children in hushed warnings, the curiosity that kills —– ( the cat, the bird, the man ) —– without satisfaction; there is nothing within him fit to bring skeletons back to life, seal feathers to their melted wax.
& SHE IS A FEATHERED thing, bright-eyed, naive, a tragedy just waiting to happen ( so dawn goes down to day / nothing gold can stay ) as she reaches for sunlight, so deceptive in its warmth, fingers outstretched, fate sealed —— the ocean waits, to catch, to drown, to consume, let purity sink into the depths and dissolve into naught but lore, another lost soul wanting too much, forgetting consequence.
❛ You don’t know what you’re saying. ❜ They never do tell, those mothers, those myths, the love story —– tell the tragedy, oh he begs they do ——– but dare not forget the truth of how the sun mourns the ascent of their darling icarus ( dare not say a star did not, can not love ; a love that burns, a love that kills, but love all the same ) & the sea screams with the fall; fools & longing have existed long before Juliet and her Romeo. ❛ I’m not who you see in the chatroom —– whatever you think you’re feeling, you need to forget about it. ❜
SUNRISE MUST ONE DAY become sunset, the moon must take center stage & surely, surely, wings would have survived ( surely, they would not have even tried to soar ) had it been the moon beckoning & the waves stayed silent. It is better this way, the ocean whispers to the sun ; I know, I know, I know, the sun replies, but my god does it hurt. ❛ Actually, you should just forget about me as a whole; i’ll be gone soon, disappearing like the morning fog. …It’s better this way. ❜
it’s assumptions, accusations, that burn through gentle souls with the ease of a flame licking parchment -- the equivalent severity & pain of a shrapnel stuck between delicate ribs. he reaches in without hesitation not to pull the shrapnel out, but push it in further until the ribcage begins to creak with spiderweb fractures.
this is what he does, she’s learned -- he’ll bruise her to protect her, break her to save her, and she’ll endure every inch further that the shrapnel digs toward a beating heart. assumptions and accusations. you don’t know what you’re saying ; but of course she does. of course she does.
❛ why do you SAY THINGS like that ? that stuff about you in the chatroom ? that’s you too, i know it is. it’s okay that it’s not who you are all the time -- i want to know this side of you, too. ❜ she remains resilient, steadfast in her attempts to understand. though there’s an anchor weighing on each shoulder, pleading for surrender, unfailing faith has a gentle hand reaching out to find his.
❛ you don’t mean that. you’re not really leaving the RFA ... ? ❜
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