I Will Be Yours // Always And Forever [Proposal!]
Jan 7, 2011 22:10:56 GMT -5
Post by sadniss everdeen on Jan 7, 2011 22:10:56 GMT -5
Due to popular demand, here it is! Flight/Kaya proposal! Enjoy.
All the memories that were stuffed down into a little box in my consciousness labeled 'do NOT open' come freely like a frenzied river as I absently twirl the silver ring in my agile hands. Long has it been cleaned of the saguine fluid that once saturated and made it shine, and for the minute eternity that I've been away from that life it has remained barren of touch in a bag far from my person. A reminder of less favorable times.
It was my mother's. It's the only remaining heirloom I have, the only thing linking me to her in things other than opaque dreams that make enough sense to exist, but not quite enough to feel anything but curious attraction. This prompts the only recollection I have of her; an impossibly beautiful face set with imperial cheekbones and brown curls, coupled with tanned skin bright topaz eyes. She gives me the ring and I cry, knowing deep down in my little five year old heart that something is amiss. The beautiful woman smiles sadly and kisses my forehead, telling me to be strong and that she'll come back one day, and that we can live together again. Be happy. Then, her heels click-click-click on the wet pavement and disappear forever.
My father was never the same after that. He shrouded himself in transparent lies and paper-thin vices, always falling back to his hobbies that are most certainly abhorrent and filthy. I was the object of this sick subject, and it must have screwed me up even further than I already was. It's a wonder I made it into society at all. Even more of a wonder I met Kaya.
Without even noticing the shift my thoughts turn to the feisty redhead with an almost indecent hunger. It's no secret to myself that she occupies the majority of my mind for long stretches of time, but each occasion I think of her it's like the first contact I've had in weeks. Memory traces the gentle porcelain of her snowy-white features and curls the tresses of her unusual hair, roaming down to her body that has seen the hardships all of the smaller districts must face. My smile that I didn't even realize grow turns into a smirk at the distinct reminders of how her ribs pop and back arches when I touch her in all the right places; long have I been privy to the sacred art of creating feral tendencies that make you feel so very alive. The ring throbs its discontent at being ignored and I glance down, imagining how it would look on the silver-snow of her slender fingers. I bite my lip between two large teeth and run the pad of my thumb over the top - taking in the brilliant gems with a degree of reverence.
But I can't give it to her as is. Though it's so very intimate it is still a sullied reminder of who I used to be, hiding behind the burnished and unchanged exterior of so long ago. I have always been eloquent, but only in the way of actions - words elude my grasp - and most certainly not to the extent that my feelings for my childhood friend stretch.
crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand
I can't say no to you[/size][/font]
The gale churns into the abandoned streets but I sit almost motionless in the crook of a large warehouse, legs dangling down to brave the chill and watching the chaotic world swirl about in harmonic discord. I've been here for the better part of the day, just watching time slowly tick by from the relative safety of my own mind. My fingers and toes have long lost feeling but it's barely noticed, so caught up in my own desires and decisions to see much of anything else. While the ground is far below my own self and it's too much of a hassle to get down the conventional way, I simply unclench my muscles from their firm perch and feel in detached amusement as my frame slips quietly off the beam without even a whisper of a sound.
It's mildly morbid how potentially fatal stunts like this don't even bother me anymore. Somewhere, my rational side grumbles that I should care about my own safety, but I'm so far past the point of caring that it all becomes a kind of lucid dream. Nursing my own safety is protecting the monster - and that should be a sin all of itself. The only reason I don't do that more often is that Kaya would raise me from the dead just to kill me again for being so stupid and screwing up to the point where it's irreparable. As I hit the bank I lay quietly in my blanket, watching an untracable mass of white noise howl above in a disorganized flurry of frozen water. Flakes hit my frozen skin and slowly start to melt; seeping into the furry warmth of my coat and prompting a shiver from my unmoving frame. This bubble from the jumble outside coaxes me to stay, but another burning hot whisper from the metal clenched firmly in my hand spurs me onwards.
Rivulets trace down the strength of my jaw to spiral down below in drips of frozen excellence, tasting slightly salty with the slick of my skin. My world is covered by an ever increasing mass of translucent white, but I still shuffle along the wintry streets, ignoring the curious eyed strangers that I would pass in my wake. You're either a hard-core masochist or on a mission to be out in a bitter cold like this one, and perhaps I'm a bit of both.
Whatever emotional ties that were attributed to these streets - the ones I grew up in and learned to be a monster - have been severed in the wake of recent events, shifting my nightmares from one place to another. Not even a mild sense of unease and unbelonging. It's simply... somewhere, now. Perhaps it is melancholy and altogether the death of an era, but it brings with it a hope that perhaps things will be better this time around. Each building is familiar in their dissimilarity, crouching low to the earth and attempting to simply fade into the background and not be noticed. Here people rot in rooms of sweet smokes, weaving tales of conquest past and allowing the dying stardust to blind their eyes.
shouldn't let you torture me so sweetly
now I can't let go of this dream
I can't breathe but I feel
[/size][/font]
The unique smell of dreams being birthed and blooming assault me as soon as I enter the lukewarm shop - all dripping one hundred and fifty pounds of me that makes the cashier look on warily - with waxen fingers and narrowed eyes. Snow drips from my eyelashes and clouds my vision; wiping at them with soaking palms doesn't really do much to aid my cause. Still, the innate calmness of this place makes my lips quirk in a nervous smile and my heart start thrumming faster, even though the hard part has yet to start. I stride to the front (he seems mildly disgruntled that I've indeed found the right shop) and get straight to the point. I've never been one to flounder with word selections and pointless thoughts. "I need an engraving." My voice is gravelly after so long in the cold and so little use, rough like sandpaper and hiding my dulcet tones. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't object as I clear my throat with a frown, instead asking on what.
I'm hesitant to pass over my ring, so entwined with myself and my past that a stranger holding it seems wrong. Still, he touches the metal with a gentle care and nods approvingly, running short nails over the settings holding the stones and wiping away excess water from the metallic loop. He's absorbed with his task and I take a moment to look around; there is another man huddling over engagement rings with a worried and slightly sick expression on his face. His fingers graze the glass over each one, reaching in to pick it up and running it in his hunting-calloused hands, before setting it down again. It's obvious he doesn't know what he's doing - so caught up in wondering if she'll approave and say yes to really think about what the woman would want. Or if she wants one at all. "Where?" His surprisingly low voice brings me out of my trance, and I turn to the clerk with a puzzled stare. He gestures to the shining metal with a wave of practiced patience from endless handling of overbearing girlfriends and troubled boyfriends.
"The engraving. Where do you want it?" This thought strikes me as altogether strange - on the ring, obviously - but as I'm about to say just that with a heavy amount of sarcasm, it's brought to my attention that he wants the precise details. Rubbing my eyes wearily I run a lithe finger along the underside of the hoop, where the surface is longest. The man smiles and disappears into his little hovel; moments later there is the undeniable whir of a machine starting up.
Waiting is uncomfortable and stickywet, with clothes that cling in all the wrong places and hair that freezes into a shivering mass of untamed tendrils. I sniff and avoid the curious glance from the sap at the other side of the room, busying myself with my soaked coat and re-arranging my jeans so they don't cut off blood circulation. After what is a small lifetime the man emerges from his hollow, baring a newly cut ring with words embedded deep that shine like slick slate. My smile can't be stopped and I happily pay the man, shoving the band into my pocket for safe keeping and turning around to leave. As the door swings open, his voice floats over and makes my smile turn into a grin.
"Go get her, and get her good."
good enough
I feel good enough for you[/size][/font]
It's strange how much the weather can shift in a very short time. The snow has stopped - not even a flake falls - and the District is now bathed in a bitter calm that will draw hunters of all sorts out of hiding. New fallen sheets squeak under my soaked feet as I trace the familiar route to the edges of the town. People peer out at me from windows and I stare back, being graced with a rare insight into their lives. I'm often shown what they flaunt and what they hide when I steal some of their most precious belongings; so much is learned from simple observation and memory inducing touch. We learn to walk and live and be from touch and what that patterns into our brains, the uneven flow of life through emotion and constant movement.
Out of habit now (it used to be a nervous habit, but I stopped because I'm never nervous anymore) I take out my prize and feel the cool caress of metal, smiling a secret smile to myself and slipping it onto my finger one last time. It feels familiar though I've left it for years, wrong though it's mine for all purposes. As if it senses its fate, and is rejecting anything but its proper mistress. This heartens me and I secure it once again, resolving to not touch it until its true reason becomes evident. While the sky is bright again the clouds are on the horizon, and I glance down at my soaking clothes with a hint of annoyance. Making a last second turn, I instead climb up the steps of our house and leave the winding path to later. She's already down there now, undoubtedly leaving the house to myself. I smile at the thought, and enter.
It's quiet here, where the fire crackles with just a smoldering flame and Trig's door is firmly shut to the world. I narrow my eyes and strain my ears, but for all purposes he's asleep or not home. Good, I don't want the little brat ruining this for me.
As I strip down and shrug into dry clothes, I glance around the bedroom. Our bed lies in disarray, both too lazy to redo the sheets and pick up the clothes scattered around the ligneous flooring. My hand twists itself in Kaya-ridden sheets, relishing the smell of strawberries, summer and innocence. In the center of my chest, my recently re-beating heart starts to thrum at the thought of my girlfriend. It's difficult to resist the urge just to lay there for a while.
This house is ours, we bought with our hard earned (and sometimes illegal) money. I'm proud of each timber and flimsy cherrywood door, each tile and window. It's impossible to imagine me settling down two years ago, where I was still so caught up in the drugs and the booze and the partying. From that bloodstained fest of fucking and selling parts of my soul to here? Even more earth-shattering to imagine. You always hear about it; the people who turned their lives around because of that singular thing that they actually gave a fuck about. They revolved their whole reason to get back up on their feet and get a life. Some succeeded and received a second chance to live. Others lost that light and drowned deeper than ever before, seeking to erase the pain with nameless faces that reminds the memory of them.
drink up sweet decadence
I can't say no to you
[/size][/font]
It was her light that first drew me, all those years ago. She was adorable with her wide eyes and long-lasting innocence, and I'd watch her from across the school courtyard while the other delinquents would jostle and rough each other. The first time I talked to her I couldn't understand the irrational speeding of my pulse or the slight shaking of my hands, though for all outside purposes I looked mildly detached and fulfilling the role I had made for myself at that place; cold. Hard. Aloof.
It was just a simple conversation. Who we were (girl, I already know) what I was doing there (watching you, baby) and if I wanted to walk with her. She was two years younger than me, for god's sake! Why would my voice try and shake like a prepubescent boy when I attempted to form syllables into sentences like any normal, half-dumb person could do? It confused and infuriated and... intrigued me.
I hadn't been intrigued in a long time.
Perhaps that's what brought me back to her, time and time again. Why I'd never leave her side, and why I'd punch out the lights of anybody who started to comment on it. Violence never bothered me - actually, I rather enjoyed it. still do - but she loathed it, so I made a point not to be too aggressive around her. I hid my cigarettes when I finally began to smoke because I didn't want to show her that I was self destructing at age nine, but I couldn't hide it from her completely. I never could. Though I hated being comforted it's what she did, holding me through all of the earthquakes that the monster created. Each ripple in my sanity was smoothed over by her small hands, turned into just a tiny shiver from the wave it used to be.
Until she wasn't there anymore.
I shiver now at the feeling of losing her, and am ever more grateful that we've met over again. She is still a mirror of what she used to be; though time hardens all in this desolate life, she still somehow retains her nubile naivety that I first found so endearing. It's why I've chosen to stick with her through all of these years separated and why my heart never truly forgot her, though my brain overrode her face in favor of throbbing nights and tortured days.
Trees sway around me even as I step out into the clearing, and watch the lake reflect the rays of the sun's dying light onto the limpid waters that make it catch fire. A single dock stretches out; the wood was too warm to retain the snow and is now left as a dry mass, beckoning with an invitation I'm hard pressed to resist. I'm at home here, where the crisp chill is more at home on an autumn's night than winter's eve. As I take a deep breath, the scent of strawberries tickle my nose.
I smile.
and I've completely lost myself and I don't mind
I can't say no to you
[/size][/font]
Her cheeks are rosy from the cold and she watches with the quiet inspection she's always had, gauging my mood and sentiments with a simple sweep of her eyes. With a forceful thought I still my fingers from shaking and brush a stray strand of hair from her face, pressing my lips to hers as a greeting. It's long since passed the time that we need words to communicate (we could do that since before we were lovers) and she understands this simple hello, giving hers back in kind that infuses me with a fuzzy warmth. Kaya is so cold under my touch and she shivers at the responding of my heated digits; one hand slips down to her hip while the other holds her wrist in a gentle grasp. Nails on the back of my neck coupled with calloused but soft fingerpads are ever so sweet, and I break away only to rest my forehead against hers for a moment. Then, I tug slightly and motion towards the dock.
She follows.
We walk silently until we reach the end, laying down with a silent ruffle of fabric. I stretch out my frame and she curls into me, seeking warmth and companionship in this blackout. The two of us watch the clear sky and the wind that dances along the tops of the glassy waters, reflecting skyscraper trees back up and letting our District Nine side become one with nature. She props her head on my shoulder and I can feel her gaze - I turn on my side and interlace my fingers with her smaller but equally lithe palm. "Kaya," I start, swallowing the trembling in my voice. "We've known each other for what feels to be forever."
shouldn't let you conquer me completely
now I can't let go of this dream
can't believe that I feel
[/size][/font]
It's unbelievable how much courage it takes to pick up a flailing line of thought that's in such disarray that not even you can make sense of it, and turn it into coherent wording that actually means something. Each heartbeat sounds like a forever and a not long enough all rolled into one worrying package. Upon instinct I twine my leg with hers, bending at the knees to accommodate her smaller frame. "And we've been together for what I think of as a little less than that."
In reality it's only been months, but when you take into the fact that I've felt this attraction, this pull from day one, you can only imagine what it's like to actually touchfeeltaste her snowy-white flesh. Each breath is larger than it needs to be but I feel that if I don't get enough oxygen I'll faint simply from all these conflicting feelings bounding around inside me, aching to be heard. All these words hang on the tip of my tongue, but it's impossible to force them out all at once. The sheer emotions in this poignant and altogether wrenching train of thought is beginning to make my head spin.
"But you know; and I certainly do, that I'm crazy about you. I'd do anything to see you smile." The resulting blush has me showing shiny teeth in approval, running a thumb down the softness of her cheek and playing with her locks as I burrow deeper into her comforting presence. Around us is still - the trees and wind seeming to hold their breath for my unavoidable confession. "I will always love you. I think I always have."
My fingers that are freely shaking down untangle from hers and reach into my pocket - the slick metal hums delightfully in my shivering grasp. She looks up at the loss of contact and I press the band into her palm, wrapping her hand around it and covering it with my own, then bringing the loose fist up to my face and gently kissing the knuckles. "Kaya Lentach," My voice trembles as I breath in her scent that reminds me so of the emotion I've been missing my whole life.
Love.
"Will you marry me?"[/color][/size]
good enough, I feel good enough
it's been such a long time coming but I feel good[/size][/font]
[/blockquote]
Flight DeRicasho
[/size][/center] | I only feel complete when you're around. |
[/font]
Perhaps a slight of hyperbole to others, the word love is often grown and warped into false proportions and little teenage affections that will shatter at the slightest pressure. It is abused, misused and often taken for granted. Love is trodden upon under the feet of strangers and paramore alike, intending to drain all the affection from this feeling that's much more of a gift than most people realize. It can lighten even the darkest hour, and prevent the most depraved of acts through simple compassion to another being. In simple terms, love is life.
I never knew this at first. I spat on the very idea of being happy, choosing to abscond from it in a detrimental hurricane of late nights and faceless girls. While they thought it was a heroically anti-establishment way to live - I don't care about your rules and never will - it was really just a way to escape from the brother who was never fair, the mother who was never there, and the father who never cared. Long would I erase the hazy memories of feeling insecure and inferior; but while those would fade in time and with the help of crystalline powder, the glassy clear nights where he was in my bed with the shiny camera would remain. My behavior became erratic and violent, spurred on by the silky soft whisperings of the monster, begging me to lose control and let go. He was the friend I never knew I wanted - the enemy I never knew I had.
In the shadows of the night when I slept sitting up in a rush of stoned paranoia brought upon by the needle crushed into tiny little shards that sat in my hand, it occurred to me that I was going to die. The thought didn't particularily bother me; after all, what was there worth living for? This world held nothing special for me-- in fact, it was one problem after another. With that delirious mindset I stumbled into the bathroom, nearly passed out, and shuffled around in the drawers with no real goal in mind. My hands seemed to act upon their own accord as I pulled out a razor and managed to pry off one of the blades with cut and bleeding fingers. All throughout the monster murmured in my ears and stroked my cheek, guiding the glistening metal through the shaking of my hands.
The Healer had to resuscitate me twice before I came back for good, heaving and gasping and covered in blood.
under your spell again
I can't say no to you
All the memories that were stuffed down into a little box in my consciousness labeled 'do NOT open' come freely like a frenzied river as I absently twirl the silver ring in my agile hands. Long has it been cleaned of the saguine fluid that once saturated and made it shine, and for the minute eternity that I've been away from that life it has remained barren of touch in a bag far from my person. A reminder of less favorable times.
It was my mother's. It's the only remaining heirloom I have, the only thing linking me to her in things other than opaque dreams that make enough sense to exist, but not quite enough to feel anything but curious attraction. This prompts the only recollection I have of her; an impossibly beautiful face set with imperial cheekbones and brown curls, coupled with tanned skin bright topaz eyes. She gives me the ring and I cry, knowing deep down in my little five year old heart that something is amiss. The beautiful woman smiles sadly and kisses my forehead, telling me to be strong and that she'll come back one day, and that we can live together again. Be happy. Then, her heels click-click-click on the wet pavement and disappear forever.
My father was never the same after that. He shrouded himself in transparent lies and paper-thin vices, always falling back to his hobbies that are most certainly abhorrent and filthy. I was the object of this sick subject, and it must have screwed me up even further than I already was. It's a wonder I made it into society at all. Even more of a wonder I met Kaya.
Without even noticing the shift my thoughts turn to the feisty redhead with an almost indecent hunger. It's no secret to myself that she occupies the majority of my mind for long stretches of time, but each occasion I think of her it's like the first contact I've had in weeks. Memory traces the gentle porcelain of her snowy-white features and curls the tresses of her unusual hair, roaming down to her body that has seen the hardships all of the smaller districts must face. My smile that I didn't even realize grow turns into a smirk at the distinct reminders of how her ribs pop and back arches when I touch her in all the right places; long have I been privy to the sacred art of creating feral tendencies that make you feel so very alive. The ring throbs its discontent at being ignored and I glance down, imagining how it would look on the silver-snow of her slender fingers. I bite my lip between two large teeth and run the pad of my thumb over the top - taking in the brilliant gems with a degree of reverence.
But I can't give it to her as is. Though it's so very intimate it is still a sullied reminder of who I used to be, hiding behind the burnished and unchanged exterior of so long ago. I have always been eloquent, but only in the way of actions - words elude my grasp - and most certainly not to the extent that my feelings for my childhood friend stretch.
crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand
I can't say no to you[/size][/font]
The gale churns into the abandoned streets but I sit almost motionless in the crook of a large warehouse, legs dangling down to brave the chill and watching the chaotic world swirl about in harmonic discord. I've been here for the better part of the day, just watching time slowly tick by from the relative safety of my own mind. My fingers and toes have long lost feeling but it's barely noticed, so caught up in my own desires and decisions to see much of anything else. While the ground is far below my own self and it's too much of a hassle to get down the conventional way, I simply unclench my muscles from their firm perch and feel in detached amusement as my frame slips quietly off the beam without even a whisper of a sound.
It's mildly morbid how potentially fatal stunts like this don't even bother me anymore. Somewhere, my rational side grumbles that I should care about my own safety, but I'm so far past the point of caring that it all becomes a kind of lucid dream. Nursing my own safety is protecting the monster - and that should be a sin all of itself. The only reason I don't do that more often is that Kaya would raise me from the dead just to kill me again for being so stupid and screwing up to the point where it's irreparable. As I hit the bank I lay quietly in my blanket, watching an untracable mass of white noise howl above in a disorganized flurry of frozen water. Flakes hit my frozen skin and slowly start to melt; seeping into the furry warmth of my coat and prompting a shiver from my unmoving frame. This bubble from the jumble outside coaxes me to stay, but another burning hot whisper from the metal clenched firmly in my hand spurs me onwards.
Rivulets trace down the strength of my jaw to spiral down below in drips of frozen excellence, tasting slightly salty with the slick of my skin. My world is covered by an ever increasing mass of translucent white, but I still shuffle along the wintry streets, ignoring the curious eyed strangers that I would pass in my wake. You're either a hard-core masochist or on a mission to be out in a bitter cold like this one, and perhaps I'm a bit of both.
Whatever emotional ties that were attributed to these streets - the ones I grew up in and learned to be a monster - have been severed in the wake of recent events, shifting my nightmares from one place to another. Not even a mild sense of unease and unbelonging. It's simply... somewhere, now. Perhaps it is melancholy and altogether the death of an era, but it brings with it a hope that perhaps things will be better this time around. Each building is familiar in their dissimilarity, crouching low to the earth and attempting to simply fade into the background and not be noticed. Here people rot in rooms of sweet smokes, weaving tales of conquest past and allowing the dying stardust to blind their eyes.
shouldn't let you torture me so sweetly
now I can't let go of this dream
I can't breathe but I feel
[/size][/font]
The unique smell of dreams being birthed and blooming assault me as soon as I enter the lukewarm shop - all dripping one hundred and fifty pounds of me that makes the cashier look on warily - with waxen fingers and narrowed eyes. Snow drips from my eyelashes and clouds my vision; wiping at them with soaking palms doesn't really do much to aid my cause. Still, the innate calmness of this place makes my lips quirk in a nervous smile and my heart start thrumming faster, even though the hard part has yet to start. I stride to the front (he seems mildly disgruntled that I've indeed found the right shop) and get straight to the point. I've never been one to flounder with word selections and pointless thoughts. "I need an engraving." My voice is gravelly after so long in the cold and so little use, rough like sandpaper and hiding my dulcet tones. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't object as I clear my throat with a frown, instead asking on what.
I'm hesitant to pass over my ring, so entwined with myself and my past that a stranger holding it seems wrong. Still, he touches the metal with a gentle care and nods approvingly, running short nails over the settings holding the stones and wiping away excess water from the metallic loop. He's absorbed with his task and I take a moment to look around; there is another man huddling over engagement rings with a worried and slightly sick expression on his face. His fingers graze the glass over each one, reaching in to pick it up and running it in his hunting-calloused hands, before setting it down again. It's obvious he doesn't know what he's doing - so caught up in wondering if she'll approave and say yes to really think about what the woman would want. Or if she wants one at all. "Where?" His surprisingly low voice brings me out of my trance, and I turn to the clerk with a puzzled stare. He gestures to the shining metal with a wave of practiced patience from endless handling of overbearing girlfriends and troubled boyfriends.
"The engraving. Where do you want it?" This thought strikes me as altogether strange - on the ring, obviously - but as I'm about to say just that with a heavy amount of sarcasm, it's brought to my attention that he wants the precise details. Rubbing my eyes wearily I run a lithe finger along the underside of the hoop, where the surface is longest. The man smiles and disappears into his little hovel; moments later there is the undeniable whir of a machine starting up.
Waiting is uncomfortable and stickywet, with clothes that cling in all the wrong places and hair that freezes into a shivering mass of untamed tendrils. I sniff and avoid the curious glance from the sap at the other side of the room, busying myself with my soaked coat and re-arranging my jeans so they don't cut off blood circulation. After what is a small lifetime the man emerges from his hollow, baring a newly cut ring with words embedded deep that shine like slick slate. My smile can't be stopped and I happily pay the man, shoving the band into my pocket for safe keeping and turning around to leave. As the door swings open, his voice floats over and makes my smile turn into a grin.
"Go get her, and get her good."
good enough
I feel good enough for you[/size][/font]
It's strange how much the weather can shift in a very short time. The snow has stopped - not even a flake falls - and the District is now bathed in a bitter calm that will draw hunters of all sorts out of hiding. New fallen sheets squeak under my soaked feet as I trace the familiar route to the edges of the town. People peer out at me from windows and I stare back, being graced with a rare insight into their lives. I'm often shown what they flaunt and what they hide when I steal some of their most precious belongings; so much is learned from simple observation and memory inducing touch. We learn to walk and live and be from touch and what that patterns into our brains, the uneven flow of life through emotion and constant movement.
Out of habit now (it used to be a nervous habit, but I stopped because I'm never nervous anymore) I take out my prize and feel the cool caress of metal, smiling a secret smile to myself and slipping it onto my finger one last time. It feels familiar though I've left it for years, wrong though it's mine for all purposes. As if it senses its fate, and is rejecting anything but its proper mistress. This heartens me and I secure it once again, resolving to not touch it until its true reason becomes evident. While the sky is bright again the clouds are on the horizon, and I glance down at my soaking clothes with a hint of annoyance. Making a last second turn, I instead climb up the steps of our house and leave the winding path to later. She's already down there now, undoubtedly leaving the house to myself. I smile at the thought, and enter.
It's quiet here, where the fire crackles with just a smoldering flame and Trig's door is firmly shut to the world. I narrow my eyes and strain my ears, but for all purposes he's asleep or not home. Good, I don't want the little brat ruining this for me.
As I strip down and shrug into dry clothes, I glance around the bedroom. Our bed lies in disarray, both too lazy to redo the sheets and pick up the clothes scattered around the ligneous flooring. My hand twists itself in Kaya-ridden sheets, relishing the smell of strawberries, summer and innocence. In the center of my chest, my recently re-beating heart starts to thrum at the thought of my girlfriend. It's difficult to resist the urge just to lay there for a while.
This house is ours, we bought with our hard earned (and sometimes illegal) money. I'm proud of each timber and flimsy cherrywood door, each tile and window. It's impossible to imagine me settling down two years ago, where I was still so caught up in the drugs and the booze and the partying. From that bloodstained fest of fucking and selling parts of my soul to here? Even more earth-shattering to imagine. You always hear about it; the people who turned their lives around because of that singular thing that they actually gave a fuck about. They revolved their whole reason to get back up on their feet and get a life. Some succeeded and received a second chance to live. Others lost that light and drowned deeper than ever before, seeking to erase the pain with nameless faces that reminds the memory of them.
drink up sweet decadence
I can't say no to you
[/size][/font]
It was her light that first drew me, all those years ago. She was adorable with her wide eyes and long-lasting innocence, and I'd watch her from across the school courtyard while the other delinquents would jostle and rough each other. The first time I talked to her I couldn't understand the irrational speeding of my pulse or the slight shaking of my hands, though for all outside purposes I looked mildly detached and fulfilling the role I had made for myself at that place; cold. Hard. Aloof.
It was just a simple conversation. Who we were (girl, I already know) what I was doing there (watching you, baby) and if I wanted to walk with her. She was two years younger than me, for god's sake! Why would my voice try and shake like a prepubescent boy when I attempted to form syllables into sentences like any normal, half-dumb person could do? It confused and infuriated and... intrigued me.
I hadn't been intrigued in a long time.
Perhaps that's what brought me back to her, time and time again. Why I'd never leave her side, and why I'd punch out the lights of anybody who started to comment on it. Violence never bothered me - actually, I rather enjoyed it. still do - but she loathed it, so I made a point not to be too aggressive around her. I hid my cigarettes when I finally began to smoke because I didn't want to show her that I was self destructing at age nine, but I couldn't hide it from her completely. I never could. Though I hated being comforted it's what she did, holding me through all of the earthquakes that the monster created. Each ripple in my sanity was smoothed over by her small hands, turned into just a tiny shiver from the wave it used to be.
Until she wasn't there anymore.
I shiver now at the feeling of losing her, and am ever more grateful that we've met over again. She is still a mirror of what she used to be; though time hardens all in this desolate life, she still somehow retains her nubile naivety that I first found so endearing. It's why I've chosen to stick with her through all of these years separated and why my heart never truly forgot her, though my brain overrode her face in favor of throbbing nights and tortured days.
Trees sway around me even as I step out into the clearing, and watch the lake reflect the rays of the sun's dying light onto the limpid waters that make it catch fire. A single dock stretches out; the wood was too warm to retain the snow and is now left as a dry mass, beckoning with an invitation I'm hard pressed to resist. I'm at home here, where the crisp chill is more at home on an autumn's night than winter's eve. As I take a deep breath, the scent of strawberries tickle my nose.
I smile.
and I've completely lost myself and I don't mind
I can't say no to you
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Her cheeks are rosy from the cold and she watches with the quiet inspection she's always had, gauging my mood and sentiments with a simple sweep of her eyes. With a forceful thought I still my fingers from shaking and brush a stray strand of hair from her face, pressing my lips to hers as a greeting. It's long since passed the time that we need words to communicate (we could do that since before we were lovers) and she understands this simple hello, giving hers back in kind that infuses me with a fuzzy warmth. Kaya is so cold under my touch and she shivers at the responding of my heated digits; one hand slips down to her hip while the other holds her wrist in a gentle grasp. Nails on the back of my neck coupled with calloused but soft fingerpads are ever so sweet, and I break away only to rest my forehead against hers for a moment. Then, I tug slightly and motion towards the dock.
She follows.
We walk silently until we reach the end, laying down with a silent ruffle of fabric. I stretch out my frame and she curls into me, seeking warmth and companionship in this blackout. The two of us watch the clear sky and the wind that dances along the tops of the glassy waters, reflecting skyscraper trees back up and letting our District Nine side become one with nature. She props her head on my shoulder and I can feel her gaze - I turn on my side and interlace my fingers with her smaller but equally lithe palm. "Kaya," I start, swallowing the trembling in my voice. "We've known each other for what feels to be forever."
shouldn't let you conquer me completely
now I can't let go of this dream
can't believe that I feel
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It's unbelievable how much courage it takes to pick up a flailing line of thought that's in such disarray that not even you can make sense of it, and turn it into coherent wording that actually means something. Each heartbeat sounds like a forever and a not long enough all rolled into one worrying package. Upon instinct I twine my leg with hers, bending at the knees to accommodate her smaller frame. "And we've been together for what I think of as a little less than that."
In reality it's only been months, but when you take into the fact that I've felt this attraction, this pull from day one, you can only imagine what it's like to actually touchfeeltaste her snowy-white flesh. Each breath is larger than it needs to be but I feel that if I don't get enough oxygen I'll faint simply from all these conflicting feelings bounding around inside me, aching to be heard. All these words hang on the tip of my tongue, but it's impossible to force them out all at once. The sheer emotions in this poignant and altogether wrenching train of thought is beginning to make my head spin.
"But you know; and I certainly do, that I'm crazy about you. I'd do anything to see you smile." The resulting blush has me showing shiny teeth in approval, running a thumb down the softness of her cheek and playing with her locks as I burrow deeper into her comforting presence. Around us is still - the trees and wind seeming to hold their breath for my unavoidable confession. "I will always love you. I think I always have."
My fingers that are freely shaking down untangle from hers and reach into my pocket - the slick metal hums delightfully in my shivering grasp. She looks up at the loss of contact and I press the band into her palm, wrapping her hand around it and covering it with my own, then bringing the loose fist up to my face and gently kissing the knuckles. "Kaya Lentach," My voice trembles as I breath in her scent that reminds me so of the emotion I've been missing my whole life.
Love.
"Will you marry me?"[/color][/size]
good enough, I feel good enough
it's been such a long time coming but I feel good[/size][/font]
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