Together they toss and turn in violent waves of thoughts and feelings. In these waters their words are dark swirling shapes and their memories have colors, and when it all stop, please stops the night seems too bright, too cold.
The wild magic in him is alive and on edge. It hovers at the edge of the outline she makes in the telepathic landscape. She is at once violet and and deep, deep blue. (In comparison, the buffalo are a flat, dull orange-grey and the night sky is the exact same color as what the eye sees.) The magic folds around her, afraid to reach out once again-- and yet... even in the relief that follows in the breaking of their bond, the breath of air after drowning... Eik and his magic miss her.
It goes like this: It is statistically next to impossible that nothing else alive has thought the exact same things you think. There are hundreds of trillions of animals right now eating breathing drinking laughing crying. And so you tell yourself your thoughts and feelings are not yours alone and there is a comfort in that-- but there is always a small part of you that wonders, and while it does it chips away at the inside of your mind. You don't notice at first. And then you notice but you don't care. And then you slowly start to believe in the impossible. To hell with the numbers, there must be some things that are truly original. And if that's the case then there must be some feelings too that have never been felt before.
The conclusions build like a skipping stone, rising every time you expect it to fall until you finally, actually believe that it is possibly to be truly, completely, alone.
All this to say he had given up thinking anyone in this world felt that same deep, deep blue. Until their minds met, Isra and Eik, and they were not identical (of course, they could not be) but they were similar enough to resonate. He can still feel the aftershock, ringing in the marrow of his bones. The magic in him, at once curious and afraid and excited, mirrors his own racing heart. A door has been opened but he does not step through, not yet.
Not yet.
who are you? he wants to ask. But that question could not be answered in words that would satisfy him. They have been abruptly thrown into each other's stories. They are beyond names now. She is, and that is answer enough.
"Is this death then?" In the silence of the night, with the moonglow to carry her words, Isra sounds much closer than she is. With his eyes still closed, it seems almost as though she is beside him, whispering in his ear.
"Have I frozen in the snow
while my thoughts ran wild
like
wolves?"
He opens his eyes and the moon is still shining and the snow still slowly falling. He does not sound sorry when he says, simply, "no." Not unless he, too, has died- but death could not possibly be this beautiful. This is life. This is fate and this is magic. And although he thinks himself a hitchhiker just along for the ride, he is more than that now-- he is a weaver of stories and souls. He carves his own path and does not even realize it yet. It is the unfortunate result of always looking back.
"Do you seek death?" Is that what he had felt, when their stories crashed into each other? Or was that his own heart and its secret, hidden desires? For a moment he could not tell where he ended and she began. He still wonders.
Eik approaches the stranger slowly, and somehow his steps are quiet even on freshly fallen snow.
The wild magic in him is alive and on edge. It hovers at the edge of the outline she makes in the telepathic landscape. She is at once violet and and deep, deep blue. (In comparison, the buffalo are a flat, dull orange-grey and the night sky is the exact same color as what the eye sees.) The magic folds around her, afraid to reach out once again-- and yet... even in the relief that follows in the breaking of their bond, the breath of air after drowning... Eik and his magic miss her.
It goes like this: It is statistically next to impossible that nothing else alive has thought the exact same things you think. There are hundreds of trillions of animals right now eating breathing drinking laughing crying. And so you tell yourself your thoughts and feelings are not yours alone and there is a comfort in that-- but there is always a small part of you that wonders, and while it does it chips away at the inside of your mind. You don't notice at first. And then you notice but you don't care. And then you slowly start to believe in the impossible. To hell with the numbers, there must be some things that are truly original. And if that's the case then there must be some feelings too that have never been felt before.
The conclusions build like a skipping stone, rising every time you expect it to fall until you finally, actually believe that it is possibly to be truly, completely, alone.
All this to say he had given up thinking anyone in this world felt that same deep, deep blue. Until their minds met, Isra and Eik, and they were not identical (of course, they could not be) but they were similar enough to resonate. He can still feel the aftershock, ringing in the marrow of his bones. The magic in him, at once curious and afraid and excited, mirrors his own racing heart. A door has been opened but he does not step through, not yet.
Not yet.
who are you? he wants to ask. But that question could not be answered in words that would satisfy him. They have been abruptly thrown into each other's stories. They are beyond names now. She is, and that is answer enough.
"Is this death then?" In the silence of the night, with the moonglow to carry her words, Isra sounds much closer than she is. With his eyes still closed, it seems almost as though she is beside him, whispering in his ear.
"Have I frozen in the snow
while my thoughts ran wild
like
wolves?"
He opens his eyes and the moon is still shining and the snow still slowly falling. He does not sound sorry when he says, simply, "no." Not unless he, too, has died- but death could not possibly be this beautiful. This is life. This is fate and this is magic. And although he thinks himself a hitchhiker just along for the ride, he is more than that now-- he is a weaver of stories and souls. He carves his own path and does not even realize it yet. It is the unfortunate result of always looking back.
"Do you seek death?" Is that what he had felt, when their stories crashed into each other? Or was that his own heart and its secret, hidden desires? For a moment he could not tell where he ended and she began. He still wonders.
Eik approaches the stranger slowly, and somehow his steps are quiet even on freshly fallen snow.
@Isra <3
Time makes fools of us all
