**STORMS COMING // watch the horizon

                 ❝ ARE YOU HOMELESS. ❞             it should  have  been  a  question,  but  lacks  a  question  mark's  inflection  and  so  rhetorical  invective  instead.  meg  with  spindle  limbs  tucked  into  bathrobe  and  dark  hair  still  a  sleep  mussed  riot  waving  cross  one  shoulder  as  she  returned  his  lost  puppy  stare  with  a  disaffected  one  of  her  own.            -              -         someone  should  probably  inform  him  meg's  never  cared  much  for  animals.  that  included  calf  eyed  strays  who  wandered  in  off  the  porch  with  the  morning  paper.

     ‘  no i have a nice home.  but it has neither coffee, you... or that klimt.  ‘   there’s a creative fervor to him. he hasn’t slept in god knows how long.  he’s got freckles of paint across his nose and cheek,  a long smudge on his neck and leading down his shoulder.  though where else he’s managed to smudge himself is -- honestly a mystery. 

     ‘   may i see it please?   i’ve dreamed about it -- i’ve got to see something.   ‘ the yellow slash of color belies the dark lines under his eyes.  sleeps been evading him.  art isn’t a hobby for him,  finding beauty isn’t a game.   it’s a thing he needs.  something tangible about which to sink his teeth into.  life has hollowed him of beauty,  and so he seeks its reminders and remnants where he can. 

god,   he   was   still  as  much  of  an  asshole  as  she  remembered.   a  cute  asshole.   but   ….    what  kind  of  person  asked  if  she  wanted  a  drink  in  this  situation?     ❛    you   still  talk  too  much.    ❜    and  before  he  can  say  a  word,  she’s  rounding  the  corner  and moving  her  arms  around  him,  a  kiss  pressed  directly  onto  his  lips.  forgive  her  for  her  forwardness   ….   but  death  leaves  little  room  to  be  shy,  she’d  found.     ❛    you   didn’t  even  faint   …   ❜   she  whispers,  sniffling  a  little  as  she  pulls  back  to  brush  some  hair  out  of   his  eyes.    ❛   that  would’ve  been  hilarious.    ❜   cue  the  small  pout.   

       he didn’t expect her to be serious,  after all she’d just come back from the dead.  it wasn’t like she’d gotten a lobotomy or anything.  an arm slips around her waist,  as natural as it had been all those years ago.   ‘   i’m not the fainting kind.   besides -- i dreamed about you every night.  for all i know i wake up in the morning without you again.  so i’m going to enjoy it while i can.  ‘  

   guilt plagues him more than anything else.   why’d he live when good men died?  men with families.  men with -- futures.  he’d never had a family.  he didn’t think he’d just find one either.  pen scratched on paper,  ink staining his fingers as he doesn’t wait for one to dry before he moves onto the next.  drawn only from his artistic reverie by the form of someone standing in front of him -- arms crossed.

     eyes raise --- ‘   sorry ma’am....   i got lost in thought.  what’d’ya say?  ‘ 

❛    robert  ….    ❜     it’d  been   ….    years.   years   since   they’d  seen  each  other.   but  she’d  know  that  face  anywhere.   she’d  know  those  eyes.     they  were  kind,   maybe  the  kindest  she’d  ever  known.    and  just  because  it’d  been  so  long,  didn’t  mean  she  could  just  forget  the  way  they  sparkled  when  he  looked  at  her.   wendy’s  throat  went  dry  at  the  sight  of  the  man,  barely  registering  that  it  was  real.   

                                                                *    REQUESTED:   @soliitudo  !  

        there’s a pause -- it’s a familiar voice.  his eyes had swept over her at first,  but they drew back.  a faint furrow in his brow.  there was the real fact she was dead hanging in his mind.  but then again she was also a cat... so when it all boiled down to it -- maybe his perceptions of things weren’t always the most accurate?  or maybe miracles did happen and they involved feline witches?