and bury it before it buries me
Maybe if she knew how the rest of this would go, maybe Elena would never have left the fireflies. Maybe, if she knew, if she could see into the future like Marcelo could, maybe she never would have left Paraiso. Would have stayed, for ages and ages, and never have left the bowing trees, the fragrant flowers. And something, something else—
Something lay buried in the ground there. Under grass. Under five years of June rain and five years of December Snow.
A small forgotten thing.
Nothing that the world would miss.
It is a stone, a crystal from the cave they had once found and taken. “Do you think it’s magic?” A little girl of blonde had asked once. “Probably.” A little girl of red had answered once.
No, nothing that anyone would miss.
Least of all the girls who let it get buried in the first place.
And forgotten.
A small thing—but forgotten all the same.
They say time is a flat circle. If that’s true, then Elena and Maret are standing in the very middle of it. She inhales, holding the breath in her lungs. As if her very breath could send them hurtling forward into time, into the very places they did not want to be. It is a mistake. It is a horrible, horrible mistake, that she cannot stop herself from leaning into.
Elena is truly what her cousin says she is, that daring cliff dancer. She twirls and she laughs. She has fallen before, has fallen down, down, down. But the love of the dance so outweighed the fear of the fall.
Her blue eyes linger on Maret as she giggles—she thinks if the fireflies made sounds it could be Maret’s laughter. Elena holds Maret there, against her shoulder, feeling something like kinship with the girl. (Who else would dance in sunlight with her so beautifully?) “That is how my father fell in love with my mother,” she says, remembering the story her mother would tell. Sometimes, if she lies still and lets her mind clear, she can remember the sound of her voice. Her words were sweet like summer berries and she smelled the way she remembers home smelling.
She thinks on Maret’s world. Elena does not think herself wise, she had once, when she had been young and foolish. Maybe she is still foolish, chasing shadows and starlight. Good and bad. The summer rains in Paraiso that flooded the quiet burrows of the rabbits. Destroy as easily as it gives. The snow that paint a picturesque landscape for two fillies to build snow animals. The same substance that froze her father’s blood. “I don’’t know,” she admits. “If you find the answer, you'll let me know?” She asks, turning a golden head to the girl with a smile.
The sun goes down.
The music begins to die.
The fireflies move towards the stars.
Elena reaches out to Maret and pulls her closer to her. “Thank you for the dance,” she says. And the girls depart. One to find ghosts and another to listen to voices she has not heard in so long, so so long.
Something lay buried in the ground there. Under grass. Under five years of June rain and five years of December Snow.
A small forgotten thing.
Nothing that the world would miss.
It is a stone, a crystal from the cave they had once found and taken. “Do you think it’s magic?” A little girl of blonde had asked once. “Probably.” A little girl of red had answered once.
No, nothing that anyone would miss.
Least of all the girls who let it get buried in the first place.
And forgotten.
A small thing—but forgotten all the same.
They say time is a flat circle. If that’s true, then Elena and Maret are standing in the very middle of it. She inhales, holding the breath in her lungs. As if her very breath could send them hurtling forward into time, into the very places they did not want to be. It is a mistake. It is a horrible, horrible mistake, that she cannot stop herself from leaning into.
Elena is truly what her cousin says she is, that daring cliff dancer. She twirls and she laughs. She has fallen before, has fallen down, down, down. But the love of the dance so outweighed the fear of the fall.
Her blue eyes linger on Maret as she giggles—she thinks if the fireflies made sounds it could be Maret’s laughter. Elena holds Maret there, against her shoulder, feeling something like kinship with the girl. (Who else would dance in sunlight with her so beautifully?) “That is how my father fell in love with my mother,” she says, remembering the story her mother would tell. Sometimes, if she lies still and lets her mind clear, she can remember the sound of her voice. Her words were sweet like summer berries and she smelled the way she remembers home smelling.
She thinks on Maret’s world. Elena does not think herself wise, she had once, when she had been young and foolish. Maybe she is still foolish, chasing shadows and starlight. Good and bad. The summer rains in Paraiso that flooded the quiet burrows of the rabbits. Destroy as easily as it gives. The snow that paint a picturesque landscape for two fillies to build snow animals. The same substance that froze her father’s blood. “I don’’t know,” she admits. “If you find the answer, you'll let me know?” She asks, turning a golden head to the girl with a smile.
The sun goes down.
The music begins to die.
The fireflies move towards the stars.
Elena reaches out to Maret and pulls her closer to her. “Thank you for the dance,” she says. And the girls depart. One to find ghosts and another to listen to voices she has not heard in so long, so so long.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Maret
![[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
