#ermicro

the lack of contact hurts, and so she wallows around her house, and starts to pick up new hobbies, and falls onto the sword which is her work.

she puts her heart in a jar, and every night she watches it weep and refuses to feed it. because if she feeds it, it might no longer fit in her chest.

she does not realise she can grow with it.

it’s brick when the people you want to reach,

don’t reach back, don’t close the space.

it’s wood when the people you love, aspire to be like,

burn their cinders down to coals.

it’s iron when you add salt to sores,

the tears bring up rawness,

they grate your skin.

The moon rises full, and so they leaves their house, enter the night.

But night of this alignment attracts a spiritkind, one with which they are unaccustomed.

They grab at their arms and pull at their eyelashes.

And they crush themself on the pavement, a bereaved one.

be wary of rain cats

by eyerites / c.e.s.

'I'm unoriginal,' she said, watching the clouds pass overhead. 'Nothing new passes through me.' Even that thought seemed unexceptional.

'What makes you think you need to be original? There's nothing wrong with the mundane.'

The words were meant to console, but they only added weight to her chest. The light hit her friends face, pinking their cheeks. Their eyes were closed. 'Are you okay with being mundane?'

They opened their eyes and laughed. 'I'm not. I'm the most original you get.' She smiled small, and then leaned over and kissed them. They laughed into her mouth. 'What was that for?'

She stretched out on the grass. 'Just felt like it.'

by c.e.s. / eyerites