@frfldββ said: Itβs not so bad, my darling. Being dead. Itβs like being alive, only colder. /don't fuckin look at me bro/
βyou know, iβd been cold for such a long time before this,β she says softly--not quite sad, not quite happy. gaze is reticent as she traces the outlines of tree branches--tries to recall leaves in warmer colours.Β β...do you think birds worry about that?β dying--the word is too difficult to fit teeth around.Β β--do they fear for their children?Β the unknown? or do they just fly until they canβt anymore?βΒ thereβs a genuine sort of fretfulness when she curls white shirt fabric in her fingers. comforted, always, by the pillar at her side. she is afraid of it--the unknown. to descend from the branch, to be blown away from the safety of her lighthouse.
from a slotted window in a damp basement, she had remembered wanting to be a little winged thing.Β she remembers it all now.Β the pain in the roots of her being, the trickle of poison that had once dulled her into a whisper, a shade of blue-grey among the living. it hurts less, now, as healing bruises tend to.Β
she is no longer concerned with the tree branches, going to find dwightβs hand to hold, find earth with--knowing she could float away--knowing he would not allow her to.
valley of death holds them here, suspended in perfect complexity, as a snowflake before it collects below.Β she has seen it in a dark basement; in the ruins of a hospital. she has lived and died in returning paces here.Β practice, understanding, runs her into the arms of empty nothing, and so, she should be brave as her guardian--oh, but her bird bones donβt allow it.Β
β...my mama said, thereβs always a little piece of someone after theyβre gone. sticks to you, like dandelion fluff.β upturn of a smile that splinters with the slight tremble in her lip.Β βso you donβt have to be... you donβt have to be sad.β blonde hair sweeps as she turns to him, finally, damp-eyed and rosy-cheeked. itβs difficult not to stumble on her words ( you are not so precise, not so capable of conveying sincerity in few words ). she holds the concurrent warmth she feels for companion, and laughs, watery, against the tightness in her throat;
βiβll miss you the most.β she cannot fathom theΒ βif i goβ or theΒ βwhen i goβ--uncertain as a pattern of raindrops on the window. but she has come to think, perhaps, that there are fates intertwined in delicate red ribbon. there is fear, and pain, and warmth, and love in all of it. knees fold up under her as she rests head gently against leaderβs shoulder. peers up gently; βif you ever miss me, just look at the birds.β teartracks make silent paths down her cheeks, but she smiles, still. β...it would make me happy, to be someoneβs good memory.β
