and bury it before it buries me
She had, sometimes, tried so hard not to care. She tried to go back to that place and it like it had never changed. Pick up the threads of a life that felt so old and so heavy and weave it back together though the bits and pieces of string were broken and frayed. She tried so, so hard, that last time she made it to Windskeep. But Elena should have known things would be different, that the things that bite and bleed and burn still find her (even with eyes of blue), but it didn't change the fast that her heart was still made out of paper that can break if even a breath is too hard. She tried. Tried to hold everything together, even as the things she used to loved worked to tear her apart. She tried to not let everything she loved lay six feet under, cradled in the arms of her parents.
She wants to be her mother’s daughter. She wants to respond with the kindness that her mother has always shown. She wants to be sweet and soft and accept the cruelty of the world that hits her with a turned cheek. She wants to be that young girl of her youth. The one with the bounce in her step and the laugh in her voice.
But she doesn’t know that girl anymore.
She can’t find it anywhere in her aching, bruised heart.
She returns here again and again. She shouldn’t really. The scene of confessions, of guilt, of shattered pieces of her heart. But there too had been pictures of softness, of blurred touches, and long gazes. So maybe she goes to feel one or the other, to remind her. She isn't sure though as she stands on the cliffs just quire what she is trying to remember.
(Is it the way he told her he loves her?)
(Is it the apologies they gave to each other for things that were no fault of their own?)
(Or was it the way they held each other, face to face, so many times in the span of a summer?)
She mulls over her thoughts as blue eyes look into the bonfire. “Sometimes…ash is the only way to cleanse,” her grandmother had said. There were no relatives left who remembered Paraiso burning to the ground, but Elena’s great-grandfather had been there, had watched the flames consume his home, Elena’s home too once—reborn from the ashes.
“Okay, I’m intrigued.” Elena closes her eyes at the sound of the voice. It isn't either of them. What had she expected? To come here, and Azrael would be waiting with stars in his pockets, or Tenebrae, ready to hold her close and kiss a broken heart until its whole. She turns those pretty blue eyes to the grey stallion that stands with a whiskey smile and desire in his eyes. She feels it then, his wanting, it slithers on her skin, and lays like sludge in her stomach. “What?” She asks, so caught up in wishes she has told herself she doesn't want, the palomino has already forgotten what was said. “I said I am intrigued by you,” he says, sliding closer to her, but he has none of Azrael’s softness, nor the coolness of Tenebrae. Elena looks up at him and the smoke that rolls past her face smells like men’s longings. “Don’t be.” And it is not a confession, there is warning on her tongue. The stallion eyes her, leaning closer, but the sound of her name has those blue eyes turning away, onto a much more familiar and welcomed face.
“Anandi!” The recognition and relief is instantaneous. She quickly follows the girl sending back a burning smile in the stallion’s direction, a promise that she would not be returning to him. They settle into quieter place and Elena finally breathes. “Thank you, he seemed a little more than…eager,” she says with narrowed eyes. “You make for much more charming company,” she adds with a brightening smile then. “Well, actually,” she responds. “I’ve moved into a nice cottage off the water, and I am at the hospital quite often…healing—there have been some interesting cases up there,” she adds. Deep punctures from a woman, a woman who was not Elena. Deep punctures from a woman that touched him there, that Elena then too touched him, as she patched him and stitched him back together. She tore him apart, and apart he tore her.
At her next question, her heart thrashes underneath her ribs like a caged bird. “Maybe,” she says the words as if she were in confession and Anandi her priest. And like a good catholic girl, Elena sips the wine offered to her.
“It’s—complicated,” she says, before pushing the attention of herself with a roll of her shoulders. “And you? How are you?” She asks the emissary with warm friendship for the girl. Suddenly a memory catches at the corners of her mind. (The corners that are so unoccupied of men and healing.) “Did your friend Lucinda find you? She told me she was looking for you.” She asks with another sip of the drink. “Interesting woman,” she says truthfully, recalling that day in the swamp.
“I dont think I have ever seen eyes quite that green.”
She wants to be her mother’s daughter. She wants to respond with the kindness that her mother has always shown. She wants to be sweet and soft and accept the cruelty of the world that hits her with a turned cheek. She wants to be that young girl of her youth. The one with the bounce in her step and the laugh in her voice.
But she doesn’t know that girl anymore.
She can’t find it anywhere in her aching, bruised heart.
She returns here again and again. She shouldn’t really. The scene of confessions, of guilt, of shattered pieces of her heart. But there too had been pictures of softness, of blurred touches, and long gazes. So maybe she goes to feel one or the other, to remind her. She isn't sure though as she stands on the cliffs just quire what she is trying to remember.
(Is it the way he told her he loves her?)
(Is it the apologies they gave to each other for things that were no fault of their own?)
(Or was it the way they held each other, face to face, so many times in the span of a summer?)
She mulls over her thoughts as blue eyes look into the bonfire. “Sometimes…ash is the only way to cleanse,” her grandmother had said. There were no relatives left who remembered Paraiso burning to the ground, but Elena’s great-grandfather had been there, had watched the flames consume his home, Elena’s home too once—reborn from the ashes.
“Okay, I’m intrigued.” Elena closes her eyes at the sound of the voice. It isn't either of them. What had she expected? To come here, and Azrael would be waiting with stars in his pockets, or Tenebrae, ready to hold her close and kiss a broken heart until its whole. She turns those pretty blue eyes to the grey stallion that stands with a whiskey smile and desire in his eyes. She feels it then, his wanting, it slithers on her skin, and lays like sludge in her stomach. “What?” She asks, so caught up in wishes she has told herself she doesn't want, the palomino has already forgotten what was said. “I said I am intrigued by you,” he says, sliding closer to her, but he has none of Azrael’s softness, nor the coolness of Tenebrae. Elena looks up at him and the smoke that rolls past her face smells like men’s longings. “Don’t be.” And it is not a confession, there is warning on her tongue. The stallion eyes her, leaning closer, but the sound of her name has those blue eyes turning away, onto a much more familiar and welcomed face.
“Anandi!” The recognition and relief is instantaneous. She quickly follows the girl sending back a burning smile in the stallion’s direction, a promise that she would not be returning to him. They settle into quieter place and Elena finally breathes. “Thank you, he seemed a little more than…eager,” she says with narrowed eyes. “You make for much more charming company,” she adds with a brightening smile then. “Well, actually,” she responds. “I’ve moved into a nice cottage off the water, and I am at the hospital quite often…healing—there have been some interesting cases up there,” she adds. Deep punctures from a woman, a woman who was not Elena. Deep punctures from a woman that touched him there, that Elena then too touched him, as she patched him and stitched him back together. She tore him apart, and apart he tore her.
At her next question, her heart thrashes underneath her ribs like a caged bird. “Maybe,” she says the words as if she were in confession and Anandi her priest. And like a good catholic girl, Elena sips the wine offered to her.
“It’s—complicated,” she says, before pushing the attention of herself with a roll of her shoulders. “And you? How are you?” She asks the emissary with warm friendship for the girl. Suddenly a memory catches at the corners of her mind. (The corners that are so unoccupied of men and healing.) “Did your friend Lucinda find you? She told me she was looking for you.” She asks with another sip of the drink. “Interesting woman,” she says truthfully, recalling that day in the swamp.
“I dont think I have ever seen eyes quite that green.”
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@
okay, but I will forever and always love these girls <3
![[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
