#i&a

[literarypm]

[discardedtwigs]

In the movies, they say this line often enough that it is now a vague memory, a blur of different faces, all of them with a sorrowful tear rolling down their cheeks. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

If we were to play that scene, the goodbye scene from the movies that you love so much, I would say, “don’t be what I can’t love.”

And you would look at me with your cruel eyes, and you would touch me— just to play the part. I have seen how this scene would go so many times, your fingers against my cheek, a gesture so soft and sweet. You would make it terrible, the caress of divinity, so close. Too close. I would melt at your fingertips, a scream chained to my burning flesh, just so you could play human for a second.

And then you would walk away, the wind blowing the dust of yet another mortal who loved the sun too much.

I won’t play that scene, not anymore. So I stay quiet; no hellos mean no goodbyes. I walk in the shadows, away from the sunlight, from your bitter smile.

The camera pans out to your lonely silhouette,— you’re on a bridge, in a café, by the shore, you’re anywhere— waiting, always and yet, never for long. You’ll find someone else to play the part, I know you will. You always do.

In this life, I am not Icarus. — Linn D.

[literarypm]

There's a Hole in the Bucket

Corrective Actions and Deadlocks

[discardedtwigs]

❤︎ Happy Birthday Ramona ❤︎

@ibuzoo I hope you have a wonderful day full of love ❤︎ Here’s a ficlet inspired by Sunblind, I hope you like it~ 

Goldsmith

You remember Icarus' hands, bruised and chewed up and always retreating and yet, a jeweler's hands. You remember him hunched over your rusting watch, a coming of age present from your father. You screamed "I don't care" to anyone who would listen until you puked the words out, the broken watch resting on your wrist weeks after the hands stilled—but Icarus saw through you, as always. 

  You remember him working the tiny pieces apart, appraising your only gift from your father, humming to himself as he delicately cleaned the gears, and the care with which he put them back. He had felt like a God tinkering away on a small universe, building it up from the ground. You had loved him and hated him for you saw who he could be, the man who could fit so well into society, make a life of these hands beyond the bruises they painted on you. 

You were scared of the light in his eyes, how different the world seemed in the reflection of his eyes. Of how different you looked in the mirror of his eyes. Too golden, too bright. In his eyes, no bleeding knuckles, no split lip, no blood on your teeth, no scars on your face. 

  It was too much to live up to. And yet, what wouldn’t you do for those precious hands to grace your skin with their warmth again. What wouldn’t you do to feel more divine than filth.

[discardedtwigs]

through autumn days i walk, Persephone’s steps singing beside me as she journeys to shadows the chill wraps around me as sunlight falls on a patch of hyacinths, purple and wilting yet quickly the breeze chases the sun away the breeze gone, the flowers dancing in shadows (freed)

my feet take me to the cliffs, atop a lulling sea and i wonder where Icarus’ body rests, bird bones and feathers now spread out across the oceans perhaps if Zephyrus had loved him he could have glided to safety, to family away from the gods’ cruel hearts

i wonder why divine love always comes and goes with such a steep price: broken fallen wounded killed — murdered is a god’s love truly worth more than a mortal life? or is it that divinity is only hightened cruelty?

i take a step back, from sea, wind and sun, back to the city Persephone playfully rests an orange leaf in my hair and i continue homeward as she kisses her lover’s nose

grievous love — Linn D.

[discardedtwigs]

my name, a last kiss from your lips; tell the winds how you loved me, and it will carry my memory back to the sea.

Linn D.

[literarypm]

To observe that which matters...