#th: 01.

[writtendwn]

        one more time, the ink spreads from her pen and leaves her blank white paper stained. it's her third attempt to write today, third time of her ruining her paper just like this. she feels faulty, incomplete, words are all she has but they don't matter. they don't matter when the hole in her soul grows bigger without him. it's been months since they lost each other, she remembers how devastated he looked as she gave her locket to him. merryn left a part of hers with him and without him, she is torn apart. 

         she drops her pen down, and that's when she hears her doorbell ringing. avoiding from any kind of human interaction, initially she doesn't attempt to open it. then it rings, it rings one more time. but who needs her like this? don't they know she is just useless after what happened? with a heavy heart, she carries herself closer to the door and when she opens it, that's when her already crumbled world turns upside down. " alex. " his name falls from her lips as soon as their eyes meet. weakness of her knees throws her balance off, her body leans on to the door, trying to stand still. in her head, she contemplated this moment maybe for millions of times, tried to imagine how it would feel. now there he is and she feels only one thing: a longing, so deep, it bleeds out of her and shows how desperate she is to have him in her life. 

@aperfectxglitch

[vernulsya]

the snow crunch beneath boot sole & the crack of steel wreathes his brother’s entry into the wood behind the house.     the axe-bit finds its bed in a log & sasha stoops down to catch the handle of his tea cup between thumb & forefinger in a moment’s respite.     [ the breadth of his brother’s shoulders haven’t dwindled from the pinhole light of childhood memory,     but his soft edges have sharpened with the clarity of adulthood. ]     when he looks at his brother he sees houses burning,       his soul bleeding out warmth into the air around him with the cloying sweetness of grave-rot & the copper threads in his hair catching fire in the sunlight.     when he looks at his brother he sees fragility,   a vulnerability that needs to be clawed out from the heart.

again,     the swing of his axe cleaves wood & thought in twine.     the bite of the handle clenched in his fist feels enough like the skull of his brother to tamp the battery-acid sting in his throat & brimming violence in the ride of his tongue.     

he tilts his head in reference to the warm glow of the kitchen where the shadows of their wives reside,       diving into inanity to avoid landmines.     « aleysa’s a good wife.     she’ll teach natalya well. »

@vozvrate​.​