and bury it before it buries me
At first the world had seemed like a perfect place, a safe place. She had sat in the grass with those spidery baby legs that were still tripping her occasionally as the sun bathed on her. Eyes bright, new and wide enough to swallow entire worlds. She can remember being tucked by her mother’s side, wth her father just next to them, smiling down at her. Those were the best times, the right times.
And then she became an ugly truth, because she needs. Because she does not want to be alone, because she’s been alone already and watched her as time passed and her heart ached while her bones turned to dust. Because she cannot exist in a space surrounded by a single mirrored reflection – her own. She is made up almost entirely of flaws and mistakes, broken and fragmented but stitched together by the love of her family. For so long she had relied on them, to fix the mistakes she had made herself. She knows that being afraid of love and being afraid to be consumed by it are made from different things. The trouble is, Elena cannot see these differences, no matter how hard she may try.
The sea.
It is a thing they have in common now. For Elena believes she can no longer breathe if the air is not coated in salt and sea bird cries. She has found solace here in the chaos and violence of the thrashing ocean against the rocky cliff side. It was volatile and it brought some strange comfort for her warring thoughts.
She is no better than him, it is evident in the way she Elena looks up at him with silver blue eyes that looks like the frost that clings to emerald blades of grass in the early morning morning hours. Elena has wanted for most of her life, from the moment she lost her parents, there has been an undeniable desire within her. It has merely shifted and molded itself as she has grown, but it still remains there all the same.
She doesn't know how to interpret his silence. She just gives him that smile that makes sunflowers turn believing it to be the sun, with blue eyes perched at the ready beneath dark lashes. She should leave she thinks as she looks at him. If she wanted a quiet life, Elena knows looking at him that he is not it, that he is far from it. ‘But what’s life without a little risk?’ Ori had said to her once with mismatched eyes and a bright smile.
Just a little risk.
What’s the harm?
If she doesn't know his name, then they can still be only strangers.
If Elena knew what she was doing to him, if she, just a blonde girl with a heart that was too big, could do this to a man of shadows, she wouldn't know what to do. Probably pick up the pieces unraveled and with a needle and thread and stitch him back together again, like some sewn together Humpty dumpty. Instead of falling off the wall, he tumbled down a cliff side and into the sea.
She takes another one step toward him. Stops herself short before he has to ask her to.
Maybe, the mouth hadn't been drawn to the flame at all, but the shadows. With bluebells sprouting where eyes should be her breath becomes staggered. He is a thief, stealing it from her like that, a thief, a scoundrel, a bandit. But Elena has had worse things stolen from her than just the breath from her lungs.
“Dont fight the darkness,” Lovelace had told one night inside their cavern as she peered out at world shrouded in darkness. “Accept it, embrace it, love it even,” she had spoken as she wrapped the ever growing apprentice into an embrace. “Darkness does not resent the light.”
He wants. He says.
She wants. She thinks.
They all want. They know.
She offers him no words of wisdom for his admission, no comfort for his honestly, no reward. She lets his words come to rest in the golden breast where her heart falls and catches itself like snow onto blades of grass. “You want,” is all she says, a repetition of words as she, in such a desperate act of cruelty and longing for something for anything (a look of disdain, a look of affection—they were one in the same when all you want is want) she takes another step closer. Can he feel that she has been so infused with sunshine that she radiates heat? Darkness does not smother fire, however hard it might try.
Tell me a secret of yours, please.
“Tell me something you want me to know about you.” They are not the same but his words batter around in her ribcage in much the same way. This is not Tunnel, she knows, but why then do those words still burn the same under her skin? (She should go, she thinks.) (She should go, she forgets.) And once more there lay the option of so many things she could tell him, something vague, something that would not give him anymore information about herself than he already had. “I’m an orphan,” she says again, because Elena never learns from her mistakes, because she will make them again and again expecting a different color when she keeps using the same paint and brush to create her life. While she uses that same paint, that same brush, that same canvas, Elena makes another stroke she has not made before as she speaks again with another truth, another admission.
“And I don't want to be.”
She wants, oh how she wants—she just does not want everything.
And then she became an ugly truth, because she needs. Because she does not want to be alone, because she’s been alone already and watched her as time passed and her heart ached while her bones turned to dust. Because she cannot exist in a space surrounded by a single mirrored reflection – her own. She is made up almost entirely of flaws and mistakes, broken and fragmented but stitched together by the love of her family. For so long she had relied on them, to fix the mistakes she had made herself. She knows that being afraid of love and being afraid to be consumed by it are made from different things. The trouble is, Elena cannot see these differences, no matter how hard she may try.
The sea.
It is a thing they have in common now. For Elena believes she can no longer breathe if the air is not coated in salt and sea bird cries. She has found solace here in the chaos and violence of the thrashing ocean against the rocky cliff side. It was volatile and it brought some strange comfort for her warring thoughts.
She is no better than him, it is evident in the way she Elena looks up at him with silver blue eyes that looks like the frost that clings to emerald blades of grass in the early morning morning hours. Elena has wanted for most of her life, from the moment she lost her parents, there has been an undeniable desire within her. It has merely shifted and molded itself as she has grown, but it still remains there all the same.
She doesn't know how to interpret his silence. She just gives him that smile that makes sunflowers turn believing it to be the sun, with blue eyes perched at the ready beneath dark lashes. She should leave she thinks as she looks at him. If she wanted a quiet life, Elena knows looking at him that he is not it, that he is far from it. ‘But what’s life without a little risk?’ Ori had said to her once with mismatched eyes and a bright smile.
Just a little risk.
What’s the harm?
If she doesn't know his name, then they can still be only strangers.
If Elena knew what she was doing to him, if she, just a blonde girl with a heart that was too big, could do this to a man of shadows, she wouldn't know what to do. Probably pick up the pieces unraveled and with a needle and thread and stitch him back together again, like some sewn together Humpty dumpty. Instead of falling off the wall, he tumbled down a cliff side and into the sea.
She takes another one step toward him. Stops herself short before he has to ask her to.
Maybe, the mouth hadn't been drawn to the flame at all, but the shadows. With bluebells sprouting where eyes should be her breath becomes staggered. He is a thief, stealing it from her like that, a thief, a scoundrel, a bandit. But Elena has had worse things stolen from her than just the breath from her lungs.
“Dont fight the darkness,” Lovelace had told one night inside their cavern as she peered out at world shrouded in darkness. “Accept it, embrace it, love it even,” she had spoken as she wrapped the ever growing apprentice into an embrace. “Darkness does not resent the light.”
He wants. He says.
She wants. She thinks.
They all want. They know.
She offers him no words of wisdom for his admission, no comfort for his honestly, no reward. She lets his words come to rest in the golden breast where her heart falls and catches itself like snow onto blades of grass. “You want,” is all she says, a repetition of words as she, in such a desperate act of cruelty and longing for something for anything (a look of disdain, a look of affection—they were one in the same when all you want is want) she takes another step closer. Can he feel that she has been so infused with sunshine that she radiates heat? Darkness does not smother fire, however hard it might try.
Tell me a secret of yours, please.
“Tell me something you want me to know about you.” They are not the same but his words batter around in her ribcage in much the same way. This is not Tunnel, she knows, but why then do those words still burn the same under her skin? (She should go, she thinks.) (She should go, she forgets.) And once more there lay the option of so many things she could tell him, something vague, something that would not give him anymore information about herself than he already had. “I’m an orphan,” she says again, because Elena never learns from her mistakes, because she will make them again and again expecting a different color when she keeps using the same paint and brush to create her life. While she uses that same paint, that same brush, that same canvas, Elena makes another stroke she has not made before as she speaks again with another truth, another admission.
“And I don't want to be.”
She wants, oh how she wants—she just does not want everything.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Tenebrae
![[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
