and bury it before it buries me
When she had slept so soundly she had been taken back to a tree fort in a deep valley, with a thundering waterfall as the ever present backdrop. “If you could be anything Lilli, what would you be?” She had asked her best friend as they watched a chipmunk make its way across the valley floor. Back before the sorrow, before the heartbreak, before the trouble. Lilli’s blue eyes had flitted upwards to the treetops. “Perhaps a bird,” she says in earnest. “What better way to hear the wind sing than to soar with it?” Lilli had said, turning to Elena, clearly determined not to be alone in answering the question. ”I think I should like to be one of the ancient trees. One that has been here for hundreds of years, with branches that reach to touch the sky.” She rushes her words, always getting ahead of herself. "Imagine the things they have seen, the stories told, and the legends witness.” She breathes. "Yes, I think a tree, unmovable, unshakeable, eternal. That Lilli, is true immortality.”
This feels so long ago, when their eyes were not haunted, and the weight of the world was not on their back. Elena had thought she could escape it, to run to Novus and leave all her hauntings behind, but she has not been so lucky.
Her ghosts had followed her here.
She can feel them, their fingers tangled in her creamy hair and the way it is electric down her spine. They would not be so easily forgotten. She can feel the remnants of salt and sorrow, butter in her mouth, the stale taste of tears long dried up and sorrow long gone to dust. She is hesitant to open her eyes. Hesitant to take in this landscape she loves so much and let it be plagued by a past rough with pain, rooted with anguish. They are there. She can feel them. Still, for all of the pain and aches, she is not fearful. She does not turn her golden cheek. Instead she lifts her chin slightly higher as those eyes open with protest. She would not bend. She would not fold.
Not to this.
Not today.
Instead, each step, gentle and searching, is deliberate, the sound of hooves pressing onto the rocks and grass of the cliff side. It sounds like victory as it rings through her ears. It has been years. It has been years since the moments that gutted her and left such deep scars whittled into her bones. It has been years since she was a young girl, crying into the wind, as she ran and ran and ran just as her father had told her to do. It had been years and yet—and yet—the memories do not fade. The ghosts do not relent. There are bruises in her eyes that tell her enough when she looks into her reflection.
She takes a steading breath, the sweet scent of summer honeysuckle grounding her, she does not cry, it has been a long time since her tears had fallen over. The weakness of her brings shame to her cheeks, she can feel it, hot and stubborn.
She was meant to be stronger than this.
It had been years.
Years.
Still, the memories do not feel old. They do not feel brittle or aged. Instead, the edges still slice and cut and she has to deliberately turn from them to face the afternoon sun that begins to warm her. The intense summer light washes across her face and she closes her eyes again but for a moment, wishing away the ache that gnaws at her bones and lights in her belly—the memories painful and vivid.
She would not bend.
She would not fold.
Not to this.
Not today.
The summer sun beats down upon her as she stands on the edge of the cliff, above her precious ocean water. Elena looks down over it all like she is looking at infinity, like if she can just stand as eternal, as strong as this cliff, maybe she could conquer anything. It is a romantic notion, a fantasy, but one she pretends all the same. Her face tilts upwards to the sun, to let its res trace the delicate features of her face and she stands there, on the edge of her home, perched like one of Lilli’s beloved birds, ready to fly away. But the ghosts would not make it so easy, their shadows reach to grab her ankles and pull her down, and in an instant, Elena feels grounded once more.
This feels so long ago, when their eyes were not haunted, and the weight of the world was not on their back. Elena had thought she could escape it, to run to Novus and leave all her hauntings behind, but she has not been so lucky.
Her ghosts had followed her here.
She can feel them, their fingers tangled in her creamy hair and the way it is electric down her spine. They would not be so easily forgotten. She can feel the remnants of salt and sorrow, butter in her mouth, the stale taste of tears long dried up and sorrow long gone to dust. She is hesitant to open her eyes. Hesitant to take in this landscape she loves so much and let it be plagued by a past rough with pain, rooted with anguish. They are there. She can feel them. Still, for all of the pain and aches, she is not fearful. She does not turn her golden cheek. Instead she lifts her chin slightly higher as those eyes open with protest. She would not bend. She would not fold.
Not to this.
Not today.
Instead, each step, gentle and searching, is deliberate, the sound of hooves pressing onto the rocks and grass of the cliff side. It sounds like victory as it rings through her ears. It has been years. It has been years since the moments that gutted her and left such deep scars whittled into her bones. It has been years since she was a young girl, crying into the wind, as she ran and ran and ran just as her father had told her to do. It had been years and yet—and yet—the memories do not fade. The ghosts do not relent. There are bruises in her eyes that tell her enough when she looks into her reflection.
She takes a steading breath, the sweet scent of summer honeysuckle grounding her, she does not cry, it has been a long time since her tears had fallen over. The weakness of her brings shame to her cheeks, she can feel it, hot and stubborn.
She was meant to be stronger than this.
It had been years.
Years.
Still, the memories do not feel old. They do not feel brittle or aged. Instead, the edges still slice and cut and she has to deliberately turn from them to face the afternoon sun that begins to warm her. The intense summer light washes across her face and she closes her eyes again but for a moment, wishing away the ache that gnaws at her bones and lights in her belly—the memories painful and vivid.
She would not bend.
She would not fold.
Not to this.
Not today.
The summer sun beats down upon her as she stands on the edge of the cliff, above her precious ocean water. Elena looks down over it all like she is looking at infinity, like if she can just stand as eternal, as strong as this cliff, maybe she could conquer anything. It is a romantic notion, a fantasy, but one she pretends all the same. Her face tilts upwards to the sun, to let its res trace the delicate features of her face and she stands there, on the edge of her home, perched like one of Lilli’s beloved birds, ready to fly away. But the ghosts would not make it so easy, their shadows reach to grab her ankles and pull her down, and in an instant, Elena feels grounded once more.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Tenebrae (what can possibly go wrong?)
![[Image: ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db...0iFb4PvyXE]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/8026a53b-dc57-41ab-b574-9f8a8fe57ce4/ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db0780.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzgwMjZhNTNiLWRjNTctNDFhYi1iNTc0LTlmOGE4ZmU1N2NlNFwvZGR2b3R3ZS01OTMwMmJhNi02YTgxLTQ3YmYtOTg0Ni0zMGM1YTVkYjA3ODAucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.ujCJH7FAbsQhfZlQniMmEd_vw-VmvaTDn0iFb4PvyXE)
let's light this house on fire
we'll dance in the warmth of its blaze
pixel made by the amazing star
