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Private  - the difference is in degree, not in kind (festival)

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Avesta
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#5

the sun shines low and red across the water,




His body remembers all the instincts mine has forgotten in death, and war, and loving a wraith wolf. He flinches like a unicorn should and my smile turns feral at the quiver of his made-for-more-than-dancing form. I do not try to comfort him nor do I let the musician gather up their instruments and make poetry in the silence. I only feel the eyes gathering on us like shadows, and warnings, and drops of rain. Each is a weight I've become easy with feeling.

Or maybe I am too buoyed by the sea to feel like anything but a warship on the endless tide. Or is it winter? Or death?

Am I even me?

But it doesn't matter what I am, not when he steps closer in the silence where only I am brave enough to dance. And I do not return to the conversation of my father because the stallion, with his unicorn instincts, already seems to know the answer to the question. I want to ask him why he bothered to ask at all if he already guessed, but maybe it's the way of men to fill the silence with their own words just to hear how they sound. My dancing takes me closer to him, bringing the weight of the many-eyes with me so that it might feel the tide of it crashing over his head.

A musician starts to sing with no drum. And I want to rip his tongue out of his mouth as much I want to beg him to never stop because anything is better than the silence fat with the roar of the sea. His words are full of love, and hope, and life enough to fill the sky with solar flares. The music is full of all the things me and my wolf will never be.

Foras yearns towards the music as much as I do.

I turn away from the unicorn as my wolf steps closer and looks harder at him. Our hearts stumble in our dead chests. A flute follows my thoughts, forgetting in the tide of my yearning that it is no longer 'mine'. I drifts past my shoulder towards the stallion and I cannot help but follow it even as I known I had already decided to dismiss him and his unnecessary questions.

My feral smile returns to hide the tidal wanting in my dead heart and my young-eternal soul. “Play me something you would like then.” And I wait and I wonder what other instincts his body knows that mine has forgotten.



@Martell










Messages In This Thread
the difference is in degree, not in kind (festival) - by Avesta - 07-31-2020, 08:04 PM
RE: the difference is in degree, not in kind (festival) - by Avesta - 09-04-2020, 07:51 PM
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