and bury it before it buries me
Elena laughs (it might sound like sunshine or a summer breeze through an emerald carpet). Gently, her head presses against the feathered creature. “Of course, little one,” she says with a smile.
It is only when Azrael speaks that Elena turns her blue eyes back to him. She cannot help the way her eyes drift across his face, soft and unnoticeable like snowflakes caught in the wind. He has a quiet way about him, a stillness and a depth that feels as impenetrable as the dark that settles around them. She wonders about it, wonders why and where it comes from – wonders, too, if she has only imagined it. But she thinks she cant have, because she has caught glimpses of this weight before, in the smile shared between her parents when she had been a child, when they had thought she wasn't looking.
There is no need to respond to his gratitude, and she is silenced for a moment anyway as he tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She wants to hold him in this easy touch, and she breathes into something like serenity. She looks up at him when he pulls away, and her smile shines as if the stars had kissed her. “I’ve seen you in your world, under the stars,” she says. “I think perhaps you should see me in mine, under the sun.”
Sun.
Stars.
Isn’t it all the same really?
“You can tell me your stories of the stars, and I will tell you mine of summer days,” she says, because summer days have always been her favorite. Summer days were her parents walking with her down to the lake, they were raising through fields of lavender, playing in a tree fort, and sitting around a fire.
And he goes, but he does not leave her empty like so many have when they turn away from her, when she watches them walk to a different horizon than the one she stands upon. Azrael has given her so much since she met him, that it is impossible to stand there with palms empty, and so she pulls what she has left of him a little closer, before walking home and into her bed. And it is not the sound of waves that sends her to sleep, but the sound of his heart beat.
It is only when Azrael speaks that Elena turns her blue eyes back to him. She cannot help the way her eyes drift across his face, soft and unnoticeable like snowflakes caught in the wind. He has a quiet way about him, a stillness and a depth that feels as impenetrable as the dark that settles around them. She wonders about it, wonders why and where it comes from – wonders, too, if she has only imagined it. But she thinks she cant have, because she has caught glimpses of this weight before, in the smile shared between her parents when she had been a child, when they had thought she wasn't looking.
There is no need to respond to his gratitude, and she is silenced for a moment anyway as he tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She wants to hold him in this easy touch, and she breathes into something like serenity. She looks up at him when he pulls away, and her smile shines as if the stars had kissed her. “I’ve seen you in your world, under the stars,” she says. “I think perhaps you should see me in mine, under the sun.”
Sun.
Stars.
Isn’t it all the same really?
“You can tell me your stories of the stars, and I will tell you mine of summer days,” she says, because summer days have always been her favorite. Summer days were her parents walking with her down to the lake, they were raising through fields of lavender, playing in a tree fort, and sitting around a fire.
And he goes, but he does not leave her empty like so many have when they turn away from her, when she watches them walk to a different horizon than the one she stands upon. Azrael has given her so much since she met him, that it is impossible to stand there with palms empty, and so she pulls what she has left of him a little closer, before walking home and into her bed. And it is not the sound of waves that sends her to sleep, but the sound of his heart beat.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Azrael
![[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
