#rosillan

[eilwen-macmillan]

[eilwen-macmillan]

[eilwen-macmillan]

I pour your coffee, set the mug in front of you as I try to remember when my hand didn’t feel so heavy. You look right past me, don’t notice that this is the third day in a row I haven’t eaten a bite of breakfast. Pretend not to notice my shrinking form as collarbones are reborn sharper than ever. 

The stirring in the next room never meets your ears, but my feet pull me towards the door. Two tiny hands move the blocks from the bin to the floor, stacking them and knocking them over just as quickly. I watch him for a moment, his sandy blonde hair a mess, just the way you like it. 

I pull the door closed, the tiny boy inside never sensing the change. 

Quietly, I find myself drifting back toward the kitchen table in our small flat. Before I realize what I have done, I’ve pulled the paper gently from your hands, folding it over and setting it on the table.

“Go.”

Your eyes slowly drift up, acknowledging me for the first time in days. I have to steady myself to keep the pain of my heart lurching to my throat from showing on my face. There’s a silence as you stare, blue eyes looking but not seeing. “What?”

“We both know you want to.” The words are soft and there’s no hint of accusation. I can’t bring myself to blame you. You didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did. I can live with the sandcastles we built, but you are waiting for high tide. “Go.”

I can’t stand here and feel you searching me for answers any longer. I turn back to the stove, but your eyes burn into my shoulders. My hands refuse to move. I’ve forgotten every muscle, feeling only the growing tension that swells in the space between my body and yours. 

Slowly, I feel your hands. When did you move closer? I can’t recall hearing a sound, or even noticing that a moment had passed. Your hands, rough on my porcelain as they turn me to face you. 

“You’re sure?”

I wonder if you know how hard it is to tell you the truth. “I’m sure.”

I try not to notice the relief in your eyes. I try not to feel every inch of the blade that’s cutting into my skin when you nod slowly. 

From that instant, the sound of the world lowered, the thick fog forming a barrier between me and the rest of it. I scarcely notice the sounds of drawers opening and closing. Of bags being filled and hearts being emptied.

I can’t be sure how much time has passed, only that the sun has gone and so have you.

The brown eyed boy in my arms sleeps soundly, my eyes still trained on the coffee mug. I run a hand over his hair, your hair, and I wonder how long it will be until he hates me as you do. 

[eilwen-macmillan]

True love is usually the most inconvenient kind.

Kiera Cass, The Selection

[eilwen-macmillan]

Moodboard: Rosillan

[eilwen-macmillan]

“July 17th, 1969, Ireland. We had met before, and would meet again. But that is where our story truly began.”

[eilwen-macmillan]

I can't get through All your walls you built too high Your unhealed scars Have kept me on the outside Your fighting truth And arrows you made in the bed Your guard is up But I'm here to see that it won't last I'm coming for you All your veils have dissappeared Will you let me through So my love can replace your fear? This foolish fight I'll be here until the end Put down your sword So we can be the ones that win I want to feel your heart beating like A melody with a heavy drum And I, I want to know All the things you hid inside Sing me your song

Sing Me Your Song, Judah and the Lion

[deucalionmacmillan]

[interoffice mail] Movie night tonight? You can pick. I just.. really need some popcorn. - E

Sure.