blue skies & ocean eyes / flax will set upon the shifts of ivory satin & ivory flesh / are you made of wax ? so it seems [the way you are flustered. careful, now, now. you might melt.] for what fixes your glaze / what causes a rapture within your cage / what tunes the heartstrings you always seem to always knock out of tune / what causes you such heartache? ― & you remember well, how icarus never knew this feeling, no, he flew away / he didn't know how to approach such warmth ―― but you, like clytie, yes you understand the risk. yet, you do not know how to approach it / without being burned again / again / again [did you set the field on fire?] again――― hey. ' frieda, have you ever been in love? ' have your heart ever felt like it would break through your chest? have you ever felt the guilt of watching another / have you ever wanted to hold another? don't ask those, keep it short, simple. ' I'm just curious... ' * hisu to frieda.
Was not quiet moments cherished the most? When time had appeared to be standing still akin to a photograph or delicate painting, when strands of flaxen had mixed with strands of coal, feeling weight of little sister pressed against own shoulder. When only worry had been getting potential grass-stains on otherwise pristine, white blouse, only sound drawn breath and leaves fluttering in the calmest of breezes — WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAT LIKE THAT? In their informal classroom / meetingplace, which always had the potential to carry such beauty, wooden fence marking the barrier of where beauty stopped, rays of sun sifting through the network of birchleaves, illuminating the pages of her book on the days they were reading. Recall when sister dearest had made such progress, flying through page after page where she had otherwise stuttered, older one guiding through crafted words and combined sentences; Little one would remember merely that but not the lady.
Ah, you taught sister dearest how to braid, how to fold her skirt inwards before sitting down to avoid crinkling; FOR SUCH WERE THE MANNERS OF A LADY, WERE THEY NOT? To look picture perfect in all her simplicity, elegance and grace weaved into even the most common clothing, making sure cheeks were always rosy and nose wiped clean. You are still upholding that elegance, passing it onto but one ( FOR WITH THE OTHERS YOU FAILED ) Why, were they sinners too? ( the ones lost, left behind, on the day HE thought he ate you, a lie you made him believe ) Not a hug, nothing warm, sentiment of a cloak wrapping around her body and pulling tightly, eyes not allowed to press shut, mouth gaping open, you don’t want to, you don’t want to, you don’t want to, WHAT WAS THE QUESTION she is speaking, sister’s lips are moving ( careful, careful, Frieda little, or you will scare her; SHE WILL LEAVE YOU LIKE THE REST ) WHAT WAS THE QUESTION?
CAUGHT OFF GUARD, causing eyebrow to quirk, a quick glance down — ‘ FRIEDA, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE? ’ WHEN? WHERE? You are in love with makeshift paradise, are you not, carefully crafted, designed, man-made, you hear the whisper, YOU LEARN TO LOVE IT, the lullaby he told to his people, the guilt cutting, carving, cleaving, features painted in shame and crimson. THE KING utters faux threat and history ( FOR IT WAS BETTER, BETTER, BETTER ), sings his people to sleep, AND YOU LEARN TO LOVE IT for the outcome matters nought if it was swapped with hate, his ghostly voice, akin to velvet poison in your ears, IT IS A COAT, a blanket, but it does nothing to keep you warm but merely pulls you up and tears apart ( does it hurt? ) YOU ARE NOT LOOKING AT HER, glittering eyes focusing on a non specific splinter at the edge of wooden table, suddenly acutely aware that one of the legs on her stool was shorter than the other AH, SO THAT IS WHERE YOU ARE WHAT WAS THE QUESTION? ( You want to glue it, don’t you? )
TELL ME, OLDEST / ONLY SISTER ( was it your incompetence that killed the rest? ), WHAT DO YOU EVEN LOVE ( that from that day, when sisters and brothers became one with the ground, you learnt to let go? ) Or is it the sentiment of looking over the masses, sneaky as you are, ah yes; You love seeing them, standing there, those little roaches baking in the mid-day sun, godless creatures begging for resolve, you love to see some heads bent and others on a stick, you love to nod and whisper his name, until you shake your head and scream hers ( IT IS WHAT GOT THEM KILLED, YOU KNOW, YOUR INABILITY TO MAKE A CHOICE. ) YOU LOVE THE HATRED FOR YOUR PEOPLE, for those who are wrapped in sin and chaos, you love the guilt tied around your neck weighing down, down, down, down — YOU / HE / THEY knew this would happen, from the moment father held his oldest in pudgy arms for the first time, to the day serum was injected through coarse needle and sickly uncle snapped in half under the pressure of enormous mandible. WHAT WAS THE QUESTION? He loves you for this / He hates us for this.
FRIEDA, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
Delicate smile, hand brushing against sister’s hair — WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAT NEXT TO HER, like those days, when you were tucked behind that bale of hay, feeling weight of little sister pressed against own shoulder ( WHEN DID / WILL SHE STOP HATING ME? )
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