bluer than a butterfly // d6 train {97th}
Jun 5, 2024 14:44:41 GMT -5
Post by Azalea on Jun 5, 2024 14:44:41 GMT -5
carmen cantelou.
Everything feels so intricate and delicate. We've all got glass hearts swinging from silk pendulums, suspended beneath bridges made of cotton and clouds. It only takes one footstep atop the path to throw everything out of balance, and with my eyes beaming like the hottest summer sun, I stare out at the treachery. One wrong move and it all ends. No, I end.
The lace that binds us to each other is unwashed. It's splattered with rust and dust, bloodstains that have darkened to an almost black hue; it doesn't feel as pretty as it should. We're all each other have now, but the ricocheting sound waves from a pin dropping could sever the ties we have. The world is fragile beyond compare, and I'm just another part of that: neon turning dim, because that's just what happens to everyone. Maybe it's time to let that dream die and throw a spark to those bridges.
I look over at Seraphina Keoch—there's a dread in my eyes and I can't look away from her. There's something so 'cool girl' about the way she's dealing with this: she owns her belief that she's a disappointment and wears it with pride, shaking her lion's mane as she introduces herself to the faces that defy the laws of television. Flynn Garner stands half-boy, half-man, desperately trying to stitch back the broken body that Seraphina—Sera has already destined herself to.
"Tell us about yourselves?" He asks, cadaverous face peering down at mine. The selective mutism feels hard to break out of, but this is a game of impressions, and I don't really know who I am yet, so I can be anyone.
"I'll take the pastels if she won't," I say blankly, looking past Flynn to one of the other bodies that sway like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds until one of us goes boom. I think I'd rather go first than have to clean up the mess. "What do you want me to tell you I'm like?" I'll save everyone the energy and start out with the protectionism first and foremost. Attachment is a fickle thing and it's more delicate than everything in this moment combined.
I think we all know that these awkward, ice-breaker introductions are the start of impossible relationships. I'd simply rather not—I'm still reeling from my neon year being over before it began. Nobody cares enough about us to want to know the finest details of our lives; I could go on about the stories I've told patients about early mornings and how I'd break dawn, but it's a wasted breath. I have to be more precious with those now.