#igniso

« status for warsan v melancholy – the poetry sentence meme »   →  accepting.

i. on nights when the moon’s brighter than the stars, she sits at her coffee table and writes to him. She writes to him about the times before she died, about who she really is, about the first time she met him, how much he made her feel alive even though everything was a lie, and how much he made her feel loved. in her neat and very precise handwriting, she writes everything she couldn’t say. She’s always been a better storyteller with a pen than with her mouth. But that’s because she’s always been afraid even though there was no need to be afraid. 

and yet still, her fingers tremble. 

and yet still, she finds herself choking on tears.

(so this is how it beginsa pen in my hand because I can’t carry a sword.)

“What are you doing up?” She glances up from the table, staring at the familiar silhouette sitting up on the bed. His eyes are still slightly closed, a yawn breaking free as he rubs away at the weariness from the corners of his eyes. it takes him a few moments to fully take in her figure, how it hides the papers on the table as though they were a secret for him to not see  (but his knowing eyes take in everything she is). “It’s late. What are you reading? Wait, are you writing something?”

She wants to panic, but that would just tell Christo that something was wrong. She doesn’t need him to understand now, this is for when he was gone and she has no one to speak to but the letters she writes for him (though he’d never read a single word of it).

“Nothing. I’m just a little inspired, so I decided to write a little bit.” She doesn’t lie, but there’s little truth laced on her words. Like venom, she spills ink into the air to somehow poison his mind into thinking everything was all right. But Christo’s used to the venom she uses to protect herself from anyone and everyone. Even those she tells she loves because still, like a child, she’s afraid. 

(Can you see the love in my eyes? or has it been hidden by the fear that kisses you when you’re asleep?)

“What’s really on your mind?” the weariness turns into concern, morphed by the kindness he’s always had for her. He gives and gives, but all she does is take and take. She cowers when he asks these questions, looking down at the paper on the table as she folds it neatly to save for another time. A time where he wouldn’t be able to see her shame even though she’s sure that he would love ever word she’s written though maybe it would break his heart.

But she’s broken his heart before, why wouldn’t she do it again to match hers?

“I’m thinking too much.” She doesn’t look at him. The air thickens, the candle beside her loses its flame as the sudden drift slivering its way through the crack in the window takes out its light. “That’s all, really.”

“There’s never a ‘that’s all, really’ with you. what’s wrong?” she hates how much he understands. she’s been so sure that he didn’t, but the more she tells herself he doesn’t, the more he tells her otherwise.

and it’s then that she realizes just how much more she’s fond of him than she was two hours ago.

“Well, you’re right about that.” She laughs, turning her eyes to the candle as the melted wax falls half way before it thickens once again. The air smells slightly of smoke, rotting her lungs though she knows it doesn’t really. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

and all she can hope for is that he would forget to ask when the moon sleeps and the sun kisses her skin.

ii. She lays beside him, his warmth her only joy in the coldness of her room. 

iii. she sleeps beside him, kissed by his lips that fall on her forehead as he disappears from her side and wanders to the seat that’s already forgotten her warmth.

iv. She wakes at the sound of birds chirping at her window sill, loud against her ears. She wakes up cold, her only source of warmth besides the blanket gone from her side. It’s then that she looks up, stares with her mouth open when she realizes what’s in his hands and how terribly hurt he looks.

“Christo.” 

and yet still, her fingers tremble.

“What are you doing–”

“What are you doing, Jieun?”

A sorry never leaves her lips. An explanation never leaves her lips because she has none that sound right. She has none that will tell him that she’s okay because she hasn’t really been okay. She doesn’t want to tell him how afraid she is, but she’s sure by how many papers have fallen to the ground that he’s read through her fears and more.

“Can’t you believe in me more than what you say in these papers?”

“I do believe in you! I have a reason for writing those.” She gets out of bed, but she never makes a move to walk closer to him. She’s torn by the look in his eyes, and she knows he hasn’t read enough to know everything that she wanted him to not know. It isn’t fair, but she hasn’t been fair. So all she can do is accept her defeat though she’s sure he doesn’t believe in that either. “I was being selfish. I just wanted something to keep me alive.”

“You are alive.” His resolution dies by the end of his sentence. He knows he’s not right, but he’s not wrong either. He knows that somewhere in her small body, nearly everything’s been dead for centuries. “You’re alive to me.”

she stands broken, staring at the reflection of a person she doesn't know in the mirror. she stands unhinged, following how fingers glide through short strands of hair that fall to their chin. she doesn't make out the curves, doesn't know how to breathe until she gasps for air. the air itself gives no relief, the air is filled invisible miasma that suffocates her and blinds her from seeing. but she sees anyway. she suffocates, but she sees. the scars that form on the person's back, along their throat, and on their stomach. she sees it all, and she thinks when did this become real? "When did this become me?" she inhales sharply, the pain in her ribs don't go away. it won't for a while, but she's got time to spare. she doesn't know whether she got her eyes from her mother or her father. she doesn't even remember what they look like, or whether the concoction of an image in her head is even accurate anymore. she looks in the mirror and sees nothing but a home broken into and beaten. she breathes, but she suffocates. She sees, but she’s blind. The knock on the door crashes in on her like waves on to a shore. it grows louder with every beat of her pulse against the skin of her wrist. she paints herself a smile, but its wiped out with a single stroke of a black-stained brush. again, the knock on the door trembles at her skin. it edges her to reveal her home, how the tornado has put everything out of place. nothing seems right, but it's been a while since things have been right. there have been too many wrongs to be undone to make things right. she picks up the bloodied shirt that pools at her feet and throws it into the corner to hide for now. she wipes the corner of her lips clean of the blood. the bruises remain, but she hides most of them with a long-sleeved shirt that has buttons in the front. "Jieun, there you are." His words are quick, full of concern. he wipes the dirt at the corner of his own lips, a smile on his face that she wants to think is reserved for her. He's wearing that jacket she's always liked on him. it almost makes her smile, but still she only stands. "Here I am. in all my glory." She pauses for a moment, wincing at the stench of copper that lingers on her that the fresh air reminds her of. "I think. I'm not really glorious right now. I think." "What's happened? what's gotten into you?" She suffocates, but still she can smell the lingering smoke on his skin. She's blind, but still she can see the love in his eyes. "Is a broken home a home at all?" she speaks in riddles because that's all she can reveal. nothing more, nothing less. but she wants him to know more. she wants to spill all that she is in front of him, let him into the mess of a home she has. see that she's a stranger even inside her own skin, just so he can become a temporary home for her until hers was fixed.

currently accepting.

« status for send me a symbol for… » → not accepting !

★ five times my muse thought yours looked breath-taking, and the one time they voice it.one. He is nothing like she’s used to. She calls for him in the dead of night, silent whispers hoping for him to greet her with a hello but she hears nothing except a silence that breaks her heart. He clouds her in color, masking the pain she feels with momentary bliss. He tells her there’s no one else like her, and she plays along because time with him is finite. Time with him will end. But she keeps him close when she can, melting in the way his knuckle lingers on the surface of her arm when he passes by. “Christo,” His name is like honey on her tongue, but there’s something like poison that lingers. It doesn’t come from her, and she’s becoming more aware that he knows more than he lets on. He turns to look at her with half-lidded eyes, a sleepy smile on his face as he reaches out to touch her arm. His knuckles caress her arm, and she’s comforted in knowing that he understands her best. “What’s on your mind, Ji?”Fear shakes her, riddles her bones with black and the color from his light suddenly becomes too bright for her to look at. So she turns away, pulling away from his touch as if it burned her skin. “Nothing, I forgot.”two. There’s a painting she’s always liked, but it doesn’t exist. It’s a painting that has died from being forgotten, neglected by the very people that once adored it. But she remembers it though it doesn’t exist in history. She turns to look at Christo as he admires the work of art in front of him, and she begins to wonder if one day everyone forgets the man who brings joy to people through his music. she clutches onto the ring around her neck, closing her eyes shut because there are too many words she wants to say to him before they part ways. “Ji, what are you doing? You feelin’ okay?”“What do you think about beautiful paintings forgotten in time?” He looks at her quizzically, as though she’s grown a second head on her shoulders. She pouts, looking down at her feet as she twirls the ring between her fingers. “It’s a serious question.”“Even if people forget, a beautiful painting is still beautiful.” He says the right words, giving her confidence to stare at him again with a smile that she’s sure he won’t figure out entirely. Not until she tells him.“Yeah, I think so too.”

three. She stares in a drunken haze, eyes mesmerized by the light that flickers through her window. They’re soft reminders that everything does not still despite everything that’s happened. Time continues, and it drifts forward while she fights to keep up. 

But at some point, her legs stop working and she’s too tired to run.

“Walk tall, Jieun.” she hears his voice, and it’s clear as the look he gives her. She listens for more, yearns for more because his voice drowns out the demons that swim in her veins. “Sleep, or you’ll end up thinking too much.”

“Will you be here?” His figure is blurry, and she’s not sure if he was here in the first place. There’s no reply. She looks away from the window to see her home as empty as she feels. She closes her eyes, and her thoughts drift.

How can a ghost be beautiful when all it leaves is a shiver behind?

four. She wonders how someone can be like how Christo is. His eyes are as clear as the blue sky, the corners crinkling whenever he laughs at his own mess up. It’s strange, and she finds herself staring at him more than the page with a rich story of adventure for her to read. Her hand gravitates toward his cheek, placing a light tap against his skin. somehow the surreal air around him disappears, and he becomes real and she’s suddenly swept off her feet.

How can a ghost be beautiful when all it leaves is a shiver behind?

“What was that for?” He questions, a light smile on his face like he’s got everything figured out but not really. Her gasp turns into a hum, and she’s smiling at him like he’s the only person in the world she can see.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re real this time. I also realized something, but I’m not going to tell you.”

He flicks her forehead. “Why can’t  I know?”

She looks at him with a contemplative look and grins. “Maybe later.”

five. She enters the building as though she’s always belonged there. It’s not what it used to be, the storage room is now a large music room. Her hands hover over the piano keys, playing an invisible melody that she’s somehow remembered after all these years.She almost doesn’t remember that she’s not alone in the room, Christo rummaging through his things to take out his guitar to practice. She wants to thank him for bringing her here, but the thank you is quieted by the sound of his fingers creating melodies that makes her wonder why its taken her so long to hear them.

“That sounds lovely.” She whispers, and she knows he hears it above his music because somehow he’s always managed to hear words he’s never meant to hear. But he doesn’t stop playing, instead, he plays with more passion, lifting a burden off her shoulders that she never knew was there. She sits on the bench, her head tilted to the side as she focuses on the way he scowls but smiles to himself. When it’s done, she feels full to the brim on a musical high.

“Christo?” He looks up from his guitar, a small ‘yeah?’ escapes his lips. “You know you look beautiful when you play your guitar like that.”

Sink, sink until she can no longer see the light.

“Christo,” she whispers with her chin on the pillow and arms held out. There’s a book in her hands so old that the writing on the cover has faded. “What do you think of love?”

She’s asked him before, and he knows it. There’s an answer that plays on his lips, but something holds him back from telling her everything. She knows he’s afraid, and she would be too. She’s lived her entire life a coward, only now taking flight like the wingless bird she is. but that was better, somehow. At least she could tell her mother that she tried. 

flightless bird, why do you hope?

There’s a hum that leaves her mouth, and she’s quick to look away and not stare too long in his eyes. A melody lingers in the air, and she’s left thinking what do I think of love?

“Loves funny,” She says. She doesn’t have the courage to look at him yet, but she knows she eventually has to. “It’s tragic and beautiful. Bright and dark. but most importantly, it can make you feel like you’re a silent film before turning your whole world into something greater than ourselves.”

It’s romantic. Love is supposed to be like that, isn’t it? But not like the movies. Her parents had shown her what love is. It’s tranquil like the quiet whisper of a moving stream. It’s understanding like the way he takes in her flaws and makes it his own. It’s patient like how a mother waits for her children to grow old. But most importantly, it is raw. 

"Christo, you know don’t you?” 

(Something’s not right about me, she whispers.

Something’s not right about the both of us, he says back.)

He pauses for a moment, not knowing what to say. A reluctant “yes” escapes his lips and she closes her eyes. Her mind whirls, and a voice to her speaks in a language she cannot comprehend. Not entirely, at least. she hushes it, tells it that it is okay because it’s different this time.

Because Christo had known and stayed.

"All my life I’ve wanted to become a summoner, and to help everyone who needed my help.” Her voice was soft, calming as she spoke to the elderly lady. The woman wept for the loss of her granddaughter, her hands clutching onto Jieun’s forearm for support. Her cries echoed; her wails louder than anyone else’s. 

She watched with saddened eyes. It felt as though the cries of the grief-stricken were in her hands, and if she wasn’t careful, each person would crumble from their pain and fear. It was all because of Sin the people wept and mourned. Sin was a monster that appeared as punishment for Spira’s wrongdoings, and there was nothing she could do but continue on with her pilgrimage in order to soothe the pain.

Even though many understood the role of what a summoner must do, there were some who were oblivious to the end and those who tried to stop her. People begged for her to stay, to stay home and forget because if not her then someone else would take her place. However, that was the exact thought that pushed her to become the summoner she was today. Because if not her then who? Someone younger than her, or perhaps someone who looked like her brothers or sister? If not her then someone else would have to die, and that was not an answer she was satisfied with.

“I want to help you as best I can, so please watch the sending and pray with me. For your granddaughter and everyone lost today. We all grieve today, but we will all raise our heads and keep moving forward. Because The Calm will come.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she stared at her indifferent companion she’d known from her childhood. “Christo, you look kind of tense. Don’t look so scary, or you’ll frighten the kids.” 

Gazing at him then, she took in his form and clothing before looking at her own appearance. His attire was different from hers and the rest of the islanders. While she wore a salmon colored kimono with a skirt that ended just above her knees and a white-patterned obi tied in a butterfly knot, he wore black with even more black protective gear just as any 1st class soldier would. While she continued to wear the silver necklace with her mother’s ring, his wrist was bare of the bracelet she’d given him.

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