this colour of grey and something else

something else that feels entirely like loneliness

a eternity of a drop

and yet is something soft and warm too

like a soft bruise that’s tender to the touch

but not yet healed enough

not yet healed enough

& so you feel the keening hurt

when you press your hand to it

even oh so

gently

another morning

and another

and another

never ending

in the dark emptiness of this room, dusts of sunlight inside, touching the edges of you

this is how you b e c o m e

furling open, oh so slowly

oh so carefully

eyes that belong to the stars

burning bright, filled with desperate prayers of others

calloused hands, strong heart

darling, yes, just like that,

breathe a w a k e

on cold nights, curled in our blankets and huddled together: our shoulders pressed together and laughter ringing out, ears tinged with red. i take your hand, carefully, secretly, my heart pounding so surely i think you must hear it. starting with a finger against yours. a brush of skin; something could be written accidental. my heart pounds harder. a second try: this time, more sure, with purpose, the back of my hand bumping against yours. something that can’t be explained away and my heart is so loud. i close my eyes. but i can still hear my heart. i think you might reject me, and i can’t make the leap, the back of my hand just rests against yours, but then — you complete it. you clasp my hand completely, so tightly, i startle. you make it so easy that i feel so silly for ever feeling nerves.

you’re grinning. cheeks squished; eyes like crescent moons. “what was that?” you ask, and i feel so ridiculous. we are already so close, crushed in this small space of our bed and yet, i was hesitating if i could hold your hand. i laugh.

“I don’t know,” i say.

you shake your head and i laugh harder. i draw my face closer, and still: despite the ridiculous, the knowledge i can cross this distant and you won’t turn your head, despite the knowledge i am allowed, i hesitate. and like before, you make the last move. you close the distance, and press your lips against yours. warmth. a pleasant feeling spreads all over me and it feels like my heart burst.

you’re grinning when i move back.

“what was that?” you ask.

this time, i feel more shy. “um,” I say. “i am not good at this type of thing.”

“I can see. so what type of thing are you good at?”

….this, perhaps, i think. loving you.

being right here: next to you, feeling the skin of your hand in mine and the heart of mine feeling like it might burst out of my ribs. seeing your face, hearing your voice and every part of my body loving you. loving you, the same thing as sitting next to you. the easiest thing. i couldn’t not love you, if i tried, i think.

you turn, suddenly, into a bright flush. all of your confidence and grin disappearing so quick into a flustered and i’m confused. then, oh — i realise. i turn into the same flustered mess as you. oh god, i can’t believe myself. i just said that out of loud, didn’t i?”

“….did you hear all of that?” my voice is a whisper: unable to bear the truth of that thought.

you nod, and damn. that’s really embarrassing. i duck my head. i am sure i look like I’ve been dunked in red paint. my hand is staring to sweat. so embarrassing, i think, again. “well,” I say, barely a murmur, “there. what I can do.” i can’t muster the strength to lift my head to look at you. i grip your hand tighter. i’m so curious of what expression you are making but still, i can’t lift my head.

i think maybe you’ll gently touch my chin and force it up. i hope. you don’t. so i have to make the last leap, this time: slowly, i lift my head and peak up and… oh, what a delight, i think. what a sight. how beautiful.

you’re still wearing that flustered expression, red all over and it feels like there’s confidence surging in me: I catch your eye and draw closer, closing what distance is there between us and kiss and kiss and kiss you. once, I am content, I pull back and smile brightly.

“I love you.” I say, confidently.

“….I love you, too,” you grumble back, a little later, voice a mumble that it’s hard to pick exactly what you said, but I hear it clear. my smile widens. I laugh.

“I love you,” I repeat and surely, I think, right now, at any moment, my heart is going to burst out of my chest for real.

I compare you to the stars and the night sky and all things great and try to map your impact on my life by measuring the cradles left by meteors but it was never quite…right

you weren’t anything like that

you weren’t a bonfire, a burst of brilliance, and didn’t pulled all the world’s eyes to you

you were simply…

you were simply just a person and you called my name and that in itself was everything to me

For this prompt: " I stumbled upon them, her collection of horns. She assured me they had never belonged to animals. Not really."

What did she mean? Not really. It was suspicious and I was on guard. Looking at them, at the horns, it made me...uneasy. It felt like something was crawling under my skin, and I could almost see the life in them, almost see the writhing animals, almost hear the screams—

“There’s no need to be on guard. Honestly.” She brushed me off with a laugh. “I told you.”

What has she told me? She hadn’t said anything. It wasn’t reassuring. Nothing about this situation was, even—the door was slammed shut and I couldn’t see her hoard of mountains, and mountains, of horns anymore. It didn’t ease the feeling away. That uneasy, creeping feeling kept teething at me. I couldn’t stop thinking about the large door, and the even larger room, filled to the brim with horns. Bones.

I shuddered.

Not really. Did I even want to know? I decided that I didn’t. My mind couldn’t stop thinking about it, though, couldn’t stop with the flooding of repeating images of dark long corridors, hollow rooms, bones, completely lifeless, and that ice-sharp sensation of voices. Soundless Screams that felt like hands on me. The animals. 

I could hardly sleep. I could hardly eat anymore. I felt like I was being consumed by something.

I had to go back. I had to face the door again. That place. Those mountains of bones of horns. 

Reina was there waiting for me, with expectant eyes that chilled me. “I’m surprised,” She said. “I thought you were going to stop being my friend.”

That...made me pause. I didn’t expect her to say that. Friends? That was the last thing on my mind. I felt a touch of regret. She was really happy about the sleepover thing, but then I had to—I had to—

“Reina.” I gasped, unable to keep in anymore. I clutched my arms, but my mind was buzzing, almost screeching with how close I am to the place. “I can’t—I can’t—I need—”

Her expression turned sympathetic. “Daddy said that humans weren't supposed to see this room. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

I was too exhausted to comprehend that whole sentence. I was just. So tired. I wanted to let this go to rest. “Please.” I sobbed, and her shockingly cold hand on my shoulder was a comfort I didn’t expect. It eased some of this storm inside of me. 

“Sorry.” She said, again. “I just wanted a friend. I didn’t expect—”

“Please.” I repeated with urgency. I didn't think I could hold it, and she muttered, okay, okay, and with, I think a sad look, opened the door and locked me in with the mountains of horns.

It didn’t feel scary anymore. It didn’t feel uneasy. It didn’t feel like anything. 

It felt safe.

It felt like home.

It felt like a warm blanket.

.

these crystals are sharp, brittle but so soft to the touch i cradle them in my hands, facinated and awed forgetting about the warmth of my hands 

they start to melt

and i try to  grasp the water turned crystal  to hold on to them for longer  but regardless of my prayers and my desparate, desparate hope they fall through inbetween my hands 

i watch  as my hands become empty 

and in the end, there’s nothing left but my wet hands 

all these beautiful crystals you have left for me are gone  maybe i should have perseved them in a better way  but i didnt know any better  i didnt know that i was supposed to leave in the fridge to make it stay longer 

i was excited by them, and didnt think was too overcome by the giddiness of these beautiful things you left and maybe,

thats why you didnt come back

An old story is playing, one about the sun and a boy. It’s one that you heard many times and one that still makes your heart squeeze  the memory of small, clumsy hands and a bright smile and the lazy warmth of a sun of a november day washing everything in soft gold 

On the stage, the curtain flows like wings and you remember how you tried to make wings once and it was a complete surprise but the shrill sound of joy made the disaster feel like perfection 

there’s photo tucked in your pocket that’s twenty years old you take it out with wrinkled fingers and smile,  heart full of something that you can’t put a name to yet 

It’s a wonder how much passes, isn’t it?

Before long, it will be november and there’s that same bright smile and you trying to make that same wings out of curtains but  instead of  small hands there’s are much larger (perhaps even more than yours) but they are still as clumsy as before and the wings turn to be a distaster 

but the laughter of joys and the photo captured makes it looks like the most beautiful thing 

I fall into love like the first note of song that will become a masterpiece but its just a few scribbles in the corner of a paper and i have crossed out and written it so many times and makes my heart still when i play it on the paino because something sings and something bursts open

something that i don’t know yet as 

my breath hitches and 

the sharp, clear sound of the keys strucks a cord inside of me 

but then, im playing the messy, unrefined masterpiece to you and im hearing your clear laugh and throw my head back with silly grin, planning to make a joke there but then - 

something stalls

i freeze 

the something i didnt know yet clicks as i watch the soft laughter lines of your sun-kissed face 

and under me the song turns into a unnoticed, choatic mess as i realise

oh im in love 

*the word for when you start to fall in love; euphoria in a sense; the beginning of love.

She’s falling

(Falling, falling—)

(Where are you Dad? Mom?)

It’s gentle and soft and too much, she’s clenching her hands and wishing for something to stop

There’s nothing though

Nothing, nothing, nothing

— please —

Teeth as soft as Autumn (and rotting sweetness that bursts and she can’t have enough of)

— where

is

everything ?

(gone)

(and now,

so is she)