'tears are just eye sweat, but saltier and don’t smell as bad.'
‹ inbox, accepted! returned to @95ec ›
Being paralyzed to your own vulnerabilities wasn’t a liberating feeling; the dark canvas of the night illuminating the sky the same way the clandestine emotions glowed on the tips of her fingers, soft and clear tears staining the innocence of her dainty fingers in a desperate act of relief. That’s how she dealt with troubles, by crying the discomfort away so the hollow edges of her chest can bloom again, riding away the ache that kept her drowning onto the dusty ground. Yes, she had friends and family, others who were like a second family to her but it was hard– hard to go from the one that always had a witty joke or bright expression to come forth and admit something was wrong– to confess she wasn’t as strong as she presumed to be. And in the midst of her darkness, there was light, the soft spoken voice that gave her no sense of comfort and merely broke the silence that lingered.
Acknowledgement was only given after the pads of her fingers continued to rub away the residue of stained purity on her cheeks, rejecting the idea of revealing herself completely unguarded. A low chuckle raptured in her throat, followed by the sniffle of her nose that required messy work of the back of her hand to seize; even if she wanted to be alone it seemed as if the guidelines in the game had changed. Silence continued to echo on her end, her breathing evening itself out before her shaky voice could speak up and attempt to avert this confrontation from having a topic of her situation. ❛If tears were blood no one would approach me.❜ She spoke in a tone that didn’t follow the rules of jovial behaviour, the darkness in her eyes elusive in the midnight sky. ❛I guess according to your facts I must be pretty salty right now, huh?❜
