PARADISE SOUGHT, SHE IS THE CHILD OF EDEN. birthed from the soil where greenery and wildfires prosper, emanating the warmth and sunlight which she once basked in ; these are images, vivid and bright, that he has never known. these are dreams which fluctuate in and out of his mind, that never were. FOR THEY ARE RUINOUS. undeserving and damned. their bodies are scarred canvases and their minds unsettled, lurking insomniacs who have made company with the moon cycles and its luminescence. neither was meant to know this warmth, this eerie sense of peace ( perhaps, that is why it has never settled. it may never. solace had been, in another life, a sign of forthcoming disparity. ) that reeks of ingenuity.
one day, they tell themselves. it is not like the brute honest accustomed to their tongues – speaking harsh whispers to wrath dripping on their tones, wishing the other dead – and not quite a lie either, not like the silly, sweet nothings that they cannot even remembers. one day we will be better.
i love you. it sounds heaven sent. it does not belong to him. in circumstances before from a time lost, impossible. coming from her mouth, after devastation and macabre with her crimson painted hands, sounds rather unholy. it is a choir that rings, a sound he never wants to hear the end of but has yet to become used to it. words fail, the blind fool with his twisted tongue. he used to be the one who would insinuate these words of affection without any expectation, without any reciprocation whatsoever. is it that unconscious shock that renders him a mute now … ? he does not answer, but that does not mean he did not hear. his actions are a means of forgiveness for clumsily bound words are missing.
BURIED INTO THE SCENT OF HER HAIR, HE IS WHOLE. the softness and slight tangles are a sensation he could never possibly grow bored of ; child-like curiosity and adoration, hand in hand, it could be said it is one of his favorite traits about her. this alone is ( almost ) satisfying – if there were ever any good to come from the horrors of war, it was the unspoken lesson that taught gratitude. appreciation for the smallest of moments. people like them simultaneously gifted / cursed by sensitivity that fuels lingering paranoia, the reminder that any instance could be their inevitable last never leaves their minds. BUT SOME HABITS ARE NEVER UNLEARNED. greediness is etched into their minds, their bodies starved for carnal activities and slow learned affection.
❛ she is asleep. ❜ – and by she, their jewel that he is told has her beauty but his nature, sleeps on blissfully as she should. the obvious idle commentary has a purpose behind it, as his grin widens. ❛ do you suppose we can make the most of this in the meantime, then? ❜