#boyhalf

like  an  animal  caged,  ben  no  longer  remembered  how  the  sun  (  warm,  gentle,  soothing  )   felt  against  his  skin,  only  yearned  to  feel  it  linger  against  his  skin.  however,  the  moonlight  would  do.  lying  on  one  of  the  park  benches,  he  memorised  the  stars,  all  four  of  them,  for  he  never  really  looked  at  them  at  all  whilst  he  lived.  had  he  breath  in  his  lungs,  and  slept  through  the  night,  he  may  have  yawned.

          THE  GRACE  OF  TAINTED     hands,   but there is laughter in the way she looks past a sea of people mesmerized.     the gentled air of risked affection towards concepts much larger,   &   the heavier affection of the hum over her chest.     steps stop just out of sight,   &   she releases a larger sigh made of   jesting  grief.     ❝   the old gramps can’t see me     ?     wow,   maybe you should get your eyes checked.   ❞     words leave her lips as sighted instinct,   as if it lilts off the surface of what she’d create.     eyes close before they flicker open,   &   she beams,   hand already raised as if to protect her hair.     ❝   are you on your lunch break,   yet     ?   ❞

MEME  MESSENGER     :     @boyhalf​.

MEME  RECEIPT     :     always  accepting.

          HE’S  ALL  WINTER     &   bones.     he’s the sight of starlight   &   parchment dusted in muted fairy dust.     he’s a blessing at the tips of her fingers,   &   she twitches a smile at her lips in the dawn of his reason.     fondly is how she envisions,   biting breath between the steps of her ribs,   a shake in her inhale     (     LAUGHTER     !     LAUGHTER     !     LAUGHTER     !     ).     &   there’s protest in his own surrender to sleep,   protest to the denial of consciousness in her presence.     /     perhaps such is much more a blessing to preference of status.     fingers place themselves upon his cheeks,   tugs at the apples to scoot the other closer.

          HE’S  IN  HER  ARMS,     &   there’s a gentler way he holds himself there     (     as  if  damaging  himself  would  damage  her.     /     they  are  but  reflections  of  different  lights.     ).     a fraction in the way strength falls from him,   &   her eyes speak for her mouth,   tenderness painted into the way fingers smooth his hair     (     ALLOWANCES     :     a star  like  him  can  sleep  in  her  embrace.     ).     a shaky rhythm across his skin,   bright dream flickering across his gaze in doll drained makings.     ‘   i  will  stay.     i  will  be  here  when  you  wake  up.     i  won’t  leave  you.   i  don’t  think  i’d  ever  want  to.   ’     but they come as common sense,   as something that oozes from her veins in a way that lingers in around them,   lingers in the way she touches him.     &   it’s as if affection pours from her very being,   leaking from her pores as if a small body like hers   couldn’t  hold  onto   the presence of it within.

          HE’S  FALLING  WITHIN     an abyss of   sleep,   slumbering   sand sprinkled over his fluttering eyes.     fingers not of her own trace into her sleeves,   &   there’s airy laughter in the reaches of his tenderness.     he still fights,   &   for that,   she supposes there’s a relief of duties that accompany.     thumb presses to his cheek,   a  softness  she’s  known  to  possess     :     she leans down before a kiss flutters to his left brow.     the bright of surprise,   but the dim of tiredness.     /     watercolor of colors sail before his eyelids begin   the  crescendo  of  a  performance.     curtain drops,   &   that action is affirmed by the graze of her lips to his unaccompanied brow.     the smooth of her thumb over a spot showered in the warmness of her throat     (     &   she’d  always  bare  her  throat  if  it  meant  love.     ).

          GIRL  OF  STOLEN  YOUTH     keeps the easier smile upon her features,   brighter suns upon exposure as eyes catch another’s.     somewhat of a devious gait stumbled upon her posture,   she slips from the dismissed audience before skirting her fingers across the hanging cloth of his outfit,   grasp coming abruptly as a grip steeled.     ❝   scrawny  prince.   ❞     it is sung in the melody sold from her tongue,   the assault of atmosphere that pours from her smile.     ❝   are you   going  to  attempt   to keep in line in what the security detail is this time around,   for the event     ?   ❞