Map The Soul // (Open)

( M O N Á E C A S P I A T H O R N E )




When the world looks back
When the face looks after that
I can see a lot of life in you
Yes
I can see a lot of life in you

"Shit." You blink in surprise at the word, the kind of thing your father says when he's upset and thinks you're not listening. Then again, a lot of people seem to think you never listen — you're always too busy talking. They aren't completely wrong, as much as you'd like to protest and tell them that they are. After all, such impulses are the kind of thing that tends to prove them right. "Well isn't somebody in a good mood?" The owner of the voice is kneeling in the grass before you and you're not quite sure how he got there, but your face splits into a smile anyway, presenting him with a gap-toothed grin that daydreams of rivaling the sun itself.

Untangling your hands from your nature-weaving, you briefly glance at the grass stains splotched across your lace gloves before deciding that shaking hands is not the best option. Instead you wave, with both hands held up to shoulder height, swinging with a blur of green and haphazard enthusiasm from your wrists; the well-intentioned flail of a greeting could almost be dangerous if you weren't so much the opposite. "The sun is so bright today that I can't see any reason not to be in a good mood." You mean it literally. After you ran out the door, you tried to look back to see if your father's worried face would be there watching you — he doesn't like it when you run off without saying anything, but your thoughts change so quickly that you forget what you've told him and what you simply meant to say — only, when you glanced in his direction, the sun was so blinding that the whole world turned as white as the current sunshine-glare off your teeth, so you really couldn't see any reason to stop. You just felt all the reasons to go.

"I'm almost always in a good mood though, I don't like being sad. It starts to hurt." One palm thumps against your chest as you pause and furrow your eyebrows, looking at the boy and denying the sudden urge to tap your hand against the same space on his chest to make certain he understands. Only, the resistance really does make something pang in your chest (it's been years and years since you learned how you're not supposed to trespass on the personal space of others, but so much distance and disconnect still feels wrong... or at least not right), so you turn your face back up to the sky and ask the sun to burn the hurt away. It works and you promptly send an offering of gentle laughter up to the clouds in thanks. "Everything is warm today."

( M O N Á E C A S P I A T H O R N E )




I can see a lot of life in you
I can see a lot of bright in you
And I think the dress
Looks nice on you
I can see a lot of life in you

You shrug lightly as he replies with: "Isn't that the definition of sad?" This is one kind of question you don't feel the need to answer; You've never been very good with definitions. The world has always been defined a little differently in your mind and so those are the types of questions you got used to getting wrong in school. If a test question read — What is the definition of sad? — you would simply look at the paper with confusion written all over your face and panic flaring up in your chest. Running your fingertips across the paper's smooth surface, you were unable to sort out how to explain "sadness" to something that had no lips for you to tug the corners down or cheeks for your thumbs to outline the way tears would roll across the curves. Sad was something you knew by sight. When people began explaining how emotions are something inside you, then you weren't sure how you were supposed to know they were there at all.

There's a moment of silence that passes, wherein you begin wondering if he really does expect an answer from you, until the subject turns back to something you're much more content to discuss. "We might have an early spring this year. Might even get a summer. It is warm." That smile on your face just won't stop when presented with that kind of promise. "I'm..." Your attention barely catches on his introduction as your thoughts tick back into the kind of perpetual motion that begs your mouth to join in. "I'm Cotton Forsythe."

"Oh, I hope it stays warm." This is the part where your mouth slips into sync with your thoughts, words rolling off your tongue just as quickly as they can be summoned to your mind. "I don't like the cold and the way bites at my hands if I don't keep them in my pockets. My father tells me they're likely to fall right off if I don't and that I should wear proper gloves —" Holding your hands up, you don't pause as you look to the fingerless lace gloves adorning them, the kind of stitching that is beautiful, but excessively impractical for Winter. "— but I can't feel anything if I can't touch it and pockets are only good for holding things." With a tilt of your head, you blink thoughtfully to yourself and glance up at the sun before turning your attention to your bare feet and the half-woven grass surrounding them. Your hands reach out to the blades instinctively, fingers twisting through the strands once more. "Summer is —" Glancing up at your companion, your eyes catch on a certain questioning in his expression that pulls you up short with the knowledge that you skipped one of those social expectations you've never quite gotten the hang of.

Realization ticks across your mind with an "Oh—" that reshapes your mouth into a near perfect circle, as you stretch the sound out until it fades breathlessly into the wind. "Oh." True to form, your grin never stays away for long, returning to your mouth as you suddenly extend your hand out across the space between the two of you, proud that you seem to have solved the conversational puzzle. "I'm Monáe —" It's then that you remember the grass stains on your palm, retracting the offered hand before you can finish your own name or he's had the opportunity to shake it. "— Thorne." Instead, you take one glance at the green, shrug, and hold both hands up to wave enthusiastically once again, hoping you've gotten at least this much right. "Hello."