@godloyal wished: ‘ i promise you will not always be this war. ’
between you and these bones: poetry prompts.
I’LL MEET YOU AT DAWN, I AM WEARING EIGHT PAST LIVES AND I SMELL LIKE FLOWERS — you can’t miss me.
( i couldn’t keep staying oblivious to what was going on ! i remember, i forget, i walk in circles, i turn back and get forever lost in your labyrinth. )
homura once said that they may someday, tomorrow, one day be enemies. it feels a little like a truth and a lie, like something she’s not supposed to believe yet has to realize is right. i miss you. i despise you. can i kiss you ? what would it take for us to slip into the past ? a lot. maybe too much.
madoka thinks it’s a little silly; they’ll be together forever after all. right ? right ? it’s best friends forever, it’s a love story ( and it’s more than anything can compete against ). the spider lily blooms in the dark, but the spiranthes blossoms where the air is thinnest; at the mountain peak they can find what they’re both looking for and nothing more ( homulilly walks down the hill to her death, kriemhild gretchen is likened to the vastest of peaks; homulilly grasps at everything with her hands, kriemhild gretchen gives the world everything she can ).
“ homura - chan ... ? ” madoka questions, fingers wringing into own shirt. she finds a loose thread; she pulls at it. madoka is vaguely reminded of a time where she saw more than anyone could fathom. she pushes it to the back of her mind with a shake of her head, lifting a hand to push a lock of pink hair behind an ear. the physicality of her being is staggering; mortality stings, but she doesn’t understand why.
“ i think ... i think i will always, somehow, feel like some type of war. ” she admits; she doesn’t know why. why, why, why ? hand wrings deeper into shirt, above her heart; when did she come to be at peace with this revelation ?
it feels so long ago ...
madoka smiles. it’s selfless, it’s beautiful. it feels like light’s first rays on a meadow after a season of pouring rain.
“ but it’s okay, homura - chan ! if i do it, then noone else will have to ! ”
and that, she feels, is fine. she smoothes out her school - wear, draws the shirt down and straightens the skirt out. perfect, immaculate, in that way where it’s so very charming; kaname madoka, you have ever been the best of them all.
she holds out a hand to homura, lets it hover, and then grasps at the sleeve of her best friend’s sweater. it feels right. it feels wrong. it feels like something forbidden, yet she can’t get herself to stay away. perfectly wrong. wrongfully perfect.
madoka walks forth. she has ever walked with purpose.
“ it’s okay. i promise. ”