Long has it been whispered , among the sightless , the foul - hearted , faithless ; those who tremble with wrath , whose veins weep flames , gaze stolen by blood & vengeance lights their way , seeping from every edge , cannot stand in harmony , for calamity ruins their veins. Long has it been whispered , their heartbeats know not pianissimo , it is said that only fortissimo dances beneath the skin.
Yet , in her eyes , within her ears , in the living flesh , within the deformed tissue , she knows this to be of lies ; she has heard calmness betwixt layers of calamity , she has heard the heartbeat calm , even if for a moment , even if just barely ; she has sang it to mezzo - forte , to a pianoforte sound of loudly soft , with the song of her flute , the melody that induces a sort of closure , a calmness to rid the stress of day.
She feels it , in the way she converses with him in this moment , their voices empty within the air , a flower blooms to life over yonder from their tones , from their conversation , it too desires to listen to the sounds of trusted ones speaking. It is only the shift of his hand , the shift of the arm , pressing against her shoulder , nearly encasing her , that gives her a slight surprise , a soft shock , a rare gift of affection from the sunburned gold chain ; a rare gift , indeed.
Finger tips shift , gently they press themselves against his wrist , like a flower resting alongside the sturdy wall , a silent thank you ; the forest lights in her eyes , the field , blooming ever so with flowers plentiful , harmony plays a melody of relaxation in her eyes , they which lift to gaze upon him , softly , gently , kindly. Her smile blooms like the song , whispering a melody to put one to sleep , to chase away the terrors of the night. The whispers have long been lies , for this is a moment of pianissimo.
soft touch. / not accepting.
stormborns
dailybridgerton
dededos
theartofmadeline
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
