#ltsaviour

CONCENTRATION IS THE NAME OF THE GAME——      AND SHE’S ALWAYS BEEN A WINNER,      WITH LASER FOCUS AND THE POWER TO SEE IT THROUGH,      THROUGH,      THROUGH ...      * i have never known any other way.      there is something unnerving about the way she works.      in excess   /   all at once.      from   the   beginning   of   her   life   until   now.      innards are watered,      wet and thick.      she bloats with the need to soak everything up.      thinks eventually it will wash away her yearn for a purpose.      that i’ll become the purpose.      that i just couldn’t hold my breath long enough to see it right there inside of me.      when will the day come where i can do things in halves?      exhaustion seeps into her bones like old wooden floors under heavy feet.      (THESE DAYS!)      her eyes do not shine like the clearing of a forest against the sunlight.      they are weary,      empty holes wreathing the greenery of iris.      stand far enough away and they might look like a bruise.      here is a secret:      i have those too,      and i know you do too.      we are portraits of our past.      the catastrophe nestles in the empty spaces of our rib cage.      calls us an alter for its unholy worship.      she despises being the woman in need of rescuing.      if memory serves,      a promise was made between the swell of midnight and 6am:      i will always pull myself from the claws which try to hold me down.      the damsel in distress only looks good.      hear this carefully,      i   am   good.      her heart beats.      her vessel quietens.      aren’t i?      in this decision,      it doesn’t matter.      looks into your eyes and thinks she sees all the good she could ever want.

*    (    re:   )          non  verbal  prompts        .   .   .        accepting.    ∗ 2o﹕ sender  lifts  receiver's  chin,   invoking  eye  contact.

she  wants  to  dissolve  into  his  touch.   he  burns  her,    deeply,    greatly;    there’s  something  about  the     bitter  taste     that  fills  her  lungs  when  they  part  ways  that  has  her  reeling  back.     perhaps  this  body  is  not  hers,    but  his.    the  way  in  which  he  maps  palms  against  bared  skin  like  it  is  second  nature,    the  way  his  gaze  swallows  her  own,    the  way  words  are  whispered  into  the     crook  of  neck    &    base  of  hair;    he  touches  her  like  he  knows  her,    like  she  is    his    to  know.    despite  resolve  settling  sturdily  in  her,    the  expanse  of  circumstance  is  one  bred  of    familiarity    now.    in  his  presence  is  where  she  finds  herself  most  nights,    more  than  she  cares  to  admit.      @ltsaviour​  breaks  the  silence  with  restrained  gesture,   fingers  curling  around  the  jut  of  her  chin  as  she  sits  before  him,   gaze  lifting  upwards.    emerald  hues  are  wide    &    vast,    the  collapse  of  intention  rises  like  haze  of  smoke  into  line  of  sight. 

❝    i can’t see the prize,      jake!      what,      is it in the forest?      do we just keep going and going?      trudging through muck into some dark cavern and then oh...      there it is!      i can see the blinding light now,      just at the end and wait -      is that a golden trophy too ?      no.      that’s not how it works!      that’s not how it’s ever worked.      not for me.      i need to be doing something more than...    ❞

THE PRIZE IS AN IDIOM,      IN AT LEAST,      TO SAY,      WHAT IS TO COME WILL BE OF WORTH.      IT IS THE ALL-ENCOMPASSING END.      ALL THAT MUST BE ACCOMPLISHED IN PRECURSOR DOES NOT,      AND PERHAPS POSITIVELY SHOULD NOT,      EVER BE ABANDONED NO MATTER THE STRAIN OR DIFFICULTY WHILST ACHIEVING THIS AFOREMENTIONED AWARD.      (ALL OF THIS ASIDE)      THOSE FOREST GREEN EYES OF HERS AREN’T SEEKING THAT WHICH LAYS AT THE END OF THE LABYRINTH SO MUCH AS EVERYTHING THAT COMES BEFORE.      SEE,      CLAIRE WISHES SHE COULD BE SO ELEMENTARY OF A PERSON TO ONLY MOVE WITH ONE DIRECTION IN MIND.      SIMPLE AND CLAIRE DEARING,      HOWEVER,      HAVE NEVER LIVED IN SYMBIOSIS.      THE FARTHER SHE TRAVERSES,      THE WEARIER SHE BECOMES WITH EVERY DEAD OR WRONG TURN SHE MEETS.      YET,      IT IS HER REFUSAL TO PARTAKE IN ANYTHING WITH JUST HALF OF HERSELF THAT FORCES HER TO SURGE ONWARD.      ONWARD TO WHERE?      THE END,      BUT SHE FEELS LIKE SHE’S BEEN TRYING TO FIND IT HER ENTIRE LIFE.      HER EYES ALWAYS LOOKING EVERYWHERE,      TRYING TO SEE EVERYTHING AT ONCE.      IN CONCLUSION,      DEAR READER,      NONE OF THIS MAY APPLY EXCEPT TO DIVULGE THAT IN THIS,      AS SHE TURNS TO   @ltsaviour​​   WITH FOLDED ARMS ‘NEATH HER BREAST,      SHE REALIZES SHE HAS PERHAPS GOTTEN THIS IDEA OF A PRIZE ALL WRONG FROM THE VERY BEGINNING.

[    re:   ]        the  other  line         .   .   .        accepting.      ∗ 14﹕ a  text  that  was  never  sent.      @ltsaviour​

THERE,      BENEATH HIS GAZE,      SHE RUMMAGES FOR A PLACE TO PUT DOWN HER ARMOUR.      SHE’S LIVED TOO MANY LIVES IN THIS ONE TIME LIFETIME.      IT’S HARD TO RECALL WHERE SHE LEFT CERTAIN PIECES OF HERSELF.      WHERE SHE DEEMED SAFETY AS A COMMONALITY WORTHY OF BEING COMFORTABLE IN.      PERHAPS IN HIS EYES ARE WHERE SHE WILL FIND THE REMINDER.      RUNNING IS STRENUOUS.      IT TAKES AND IT TAKES.      RUN WHEN YOU HAVE TO.      IN THE DARK,      PAST A MIRROR      (OR!)      FROM A DINOSAUR.      IN THE END,      IT CAN ONLY GET YOU SO FAR.      BUT WHEN YOU’RE TRYING TO ESCAPE FEAR ITSELF,      YOU WILL FIND YOURSELF EVEN FARTHER FROM THE THINGS YOU WISH TO HOLD CLOSE——      AND THEN WHERE WILL SHE GO ?