[P] in the blur of the stars [fall]

[Elena]

take this burden away from me
and bury it before it buries me

She is warm, can feel the warmth rising beneath her golden skin. Maybe it is the dancing, the spirit of the festival, or the emotions that surround her. Either way, she tucks the warmth inside the pocket of a coat to save for the winter that would come.

For the same reason Michael wishes to run away, maybe this is why Elena her heart flutter in her chest with the grace of butterfly wings when she spies blonde men staring adoringly at the ocean, thinking it might be Michael. They are so alike. There are bruises behind their eyes, something that sits in their blood. They are not born from Novus’s soil, but from other lands, with other stories written in their smiles. Elena has not seen something familiar in so long, but she sees it in Michael. So she is not scared, but grateful because no matter how far she has traveled from home, it always finds her in strange places, on strange faces. It is in the gold of his skin, the blue of his eyes, the curve of his smile, and she can see it in the rise and fall of his breath. Michael is familiarity, and reminds her that she is not adrift on some strange island.

And like a girl who has ben drifting at sea, who has not seen land in so long, her blue eyes rise in surprise as he appears before her.

“Michael!” And maybe if they had been in a cafe in France, Elena would have taken his hands and planted a kiss on each of his cheeks and said something along the lines of ‘darling! It has been too long.’ But instead she settles for a smile on her golden face as she takes the glass from him. She looks into his eyes. Eyes like a summer sky, like the reflection in a lake, as blue as her own. “To be honest, I haven't been trying that hard.” Her voice is honey in the air between them, soft and sweet, the syllables dripping from her mouth slowly. “Though I have been trying to get my hair to grow like yours does,” she says with a note of laughter before settling before him with a smile.

She has missed him.
It was decided from the moment she left him there on the beach with sand on his toes and sea water in his hair.

“A lot has changed since I last saw you. Have you seen my new tattoo?” She asks him, directing his attention to the flame marking on her left shoulder. “I’m a rebel now, don't tell my mom,” she says with mock secrecy. Her heart twinges at her words. Even after all this time, when she speaks of her mother, even in such a fun, light hearted situation, it still causes something like a rend inside her chest. (Michael couldn't tell her mother without a shovel in hand).

His comment sends a playful bump to his golden shoulder that matches her with familiar strangeness. “Of course I dance,” she says with some sort of playful exaggeration. “Don’t tell me you don't dance? My uncle would say that’s a sin.” Blue eyes grow playful as she looks out at him from beneath long, dark lashes. “You aren't a sinner, are you Michael?”

so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me

@Michael