WATCH HERE AS TWO HANDS ARE OUTSTRETCHED AND THE SPACE BETWEEN THEM grows thinner and thinner until they disappear entirely. the world is between each other here ————— why not feel such an ancient thing breathe down fir trees like the noonday ? ( life and death meet in this space like a tryst where they shall argue over antitheses and belonging and never kiss. ) his steps create a careful trail of red leaves as if he had burned her handiwork down to twigs and rot, a vision of what they will become, and he makes no sound. his teeth feel too sharp for his mouth, his hands too clumsy and feet weary. such a pretty thing ————— he sees creatures roam in the forest and pretends to know what desire feels like, even after being hollowed out by time and sorrow. an arrow notches in the space between a breath but his bones creak the note of the taut string in response.
in the shadow of the sun, he scents roses and blood and things that live, that will live. grace and youth and beauty ————— what else have you stolen from me ? ❛ forgive my indiscretion, mo stór, am I trespassing in your territory ? ❜ watch here as two hands interlace their fingers the way branches entangle themselves in one another, unrelenting and furious at each other and themselves for choosing to love. ❛ or are you, in mine ? ❜ / @faespring
