・• gone, gone, gone away

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ovktor + sapphireish
kalons #1796 & #1797: the sand and the sea
sea : ji // sand : nian
back // order in thread: sand -> relationship -> sea

[home]

nian first leaves at just twenty.

she vaguely remembers the foggy memories of smoke flooding her lungs, the fire curling and pulling at her legs. pillars crack and fall behind people’s cries being overridden by the crackling of smoke stained marble statues crashing to the floor.

she’s not sure what happened. the shock is too much for her to process. she can still hear ji’s voice trying to coax her out of the flames, which in response, nian lifts the tiny hourglass in her hand and watches it drain.

the sand stops flowing.

nian wishes ji a happy, long life without her.

she wanderers the space between that life and the next. a sand desert, perhaps a testimony to lost time, no, time that she’d never get. nian inhales, and continues to the next life.

the hourglass flips, and so the sand starts flowing again.

this time, nian and ji don’t meet.

nothing more, nothing less.

it’s weird, she opens her eyes, takes in the bright lights of the room, then it all goes black.

she’s back in the “in between.”

there’s more sand now.

even more time she’d never get.

it’s like as the sand runs out with each hourglass, it pours into this plane, a cursed reminder of what she can’t have. the sand brushes against her legs, almost reminding her of the flames, of the smoke she left in.

it’s a beautiful but sad relationship they’re in.

this time, nian leaves at an age that she can’t remember.

she does remember though, that it was a nice, long life with ji. she remembers the bright lanterns they’d watch together, the stars that they’d point at as they folded paper cranes together.

she remembers tucking dried flowers into the folds of the cranes, leaving by the side of her desk, blowing out the candles before they leave for the night, yawning as they head back to their home, together. she remembers pointing at the stars, commenting how there’s a few stars for every grain of sand on this little world of theirs, while they push the hourglass marking her next death from their minds.

and when she lays alone with ji by her side, it suddenly doesn’t feel so lonely while she whispers her goodbyes.

one breath in.

a long pause.

a short breath out.

and then the sand runs out again.

the sand is back.
and she’s gone.

does it ever end?

there’s a lot of time for her to think here. she doesn’t want to keep ji waiting, though. there’s a lot she remembers. a lot she forgets. some lives were quicker than the last, some times they didn’t meet, but somehow, they still managed.

she’s went through hell, heaven, everything in between.

nian remembers how they used to compare stars to sand.

and if sand was equal to how much time she’d have to spend with ji, then she’d trade all of the stars for sand.

the hourglass flips, and somehow, they still keep meeting.

[home]

it’s lonely to be alone, but it’s lonelier to be loved and lost.

and even when they are apart, they still know that the other half of them loves them.

it’s been a while now. she picks up a quill, dips it in the ink, and starts to write.

dear ji,

i’m not sure how to start.

you’ve been a great friend to me-- i’d be lying if i said you haven’t helped me at all.

she pauses.

i’ll say it now. it’s been hell. i wish i could go back to when we could watch lanterns again in the night. i wish, i really do, that i could see you again.

i’m going to have to cut this short-- but please remember:

if there’s a single thing in this cruel world that i still believe in-
it’s us.
we’ll meet again.

- nian.

she closes her eyes and sighs, leaning back in her chair, vivid memories of long lantern festivales drifting her off to sleep.

they were writing down their wishes, taking in the warm flames flying by in the night, hearing people cheer as each one was released into the waning light of the moon. ji’s wish seemed to be simple, considering how fast she finished writing.

“finished?”

“finished!”

the other smiled, before gently sticking the note onto the lantern. as nian did the same, ji hummed patiently before the two nodded at each other, then released the lanterns into the sky.

“what’s your wish?”

“same as last time.” ji said quietly.

“what was it last time?”

“you never seem to remember.”

nian doesn’t respond, because somehow, this feels familiar. and somehow, she already knows the answer. but for now, it’s alright. it’s safe here, and if home is where the heart is, then hers is right here.



ji wakes up to a songbird pecking at the window a few days later. feathers brushing her nose, she rubs her eyes, then unties the tiny letter tied to its leg. she frowns at the unpleasant words at the start, but picks up a quill to respond.

dear nian,

that was an unpleasant start to my morning-- please never start a letter like that again.

but please, if anything, stay safe. stay safe for me, and we can go back to the lanterns.

together.

our letters have become bittersweet, and i suppose that’s what our relationship is like as well. don’t forget again, please.

- ji.

the songbird sings its hymns of travel, flaps its wings, and sails into the skies once more. ji watches it leave with the tiny scrap of paper tied to its leg, and breathes in, wishing all the best for nian.

she remembers the lanterns nian would talk so fondly of, of how they’d write down dreams and wishes and delicately glue them onto the lanterns. she remembers how they’d let them go together, and how every year her wish was the same:

please don’t leave me again, nian.

she toys with the red plum blossoms in her hands, the favourites of nian, and wonders- will she come back home, or will she have to place them on another grave again?

nian’s rushing through alleyways, jumping over crates, trying to lose the person tagging her.
there’s no time to think about lanterns, there’s no time to reminisce over love or friendship or this bittersweet symphony of a relationship she shares.

she pushes the letters closer to her, as she keeps running.

stay safe for me, nian.

i’ll try.

i’ll come home to you.

i promised you. i have no plans to break that promise.

she takes a deep breath, and scales the wall in front her before flipping over it, vanishing.

she has to survive. if not for herself, then at least, for ji. the sand keeps flowing.

she’s not sure how long she has left.

ji stops waking up to the taps of a songbird by her window. the smell of salt and sounds of ocean waves greet her now instead. ji looks out the window, looking for bright blue plumage against the crisp pale blue sky, but to no avail.

flower petals danced in the air, like fragments of lost letters to time.

did nian break her promise? will she wait for a companion that never returns home?

she picks up a quill, and starts writing.

dear nian,

are you coming home? or has the sand dunes drowned you out, time wearing you out?
if you have left me again --
our parting is bitter. but i’ll wait for the clarity.
someday, sometime, even if i have to go hundreds of years and you, thousands of lives--
like you, i believe in us.
we’ll meet again.

- ji

she sighs. a knock comes to the door, and she opens it.

nian’s standing there.

“you’re home?”

“er, no miss, i’m just here to deliver a letter.”

ji’s lips curve into a subtle frown, but accepts the delivery. nodding her head in thanks, she dismisses the messenger.

with a trembling sigh, she opens the letter.

dear ji,

i’m writing this as a last resort of sorts. as if i broke the promise.

i’m afraid, ji. scared that i might not come home. scared that i won’t see another songbird with a letter from you tomorrow morning. but you are right-- there’s something bittersweet about what the two of us are, but please.

don’t forget me, alright?

your beloved.

your… beloved?

she lets the letter flutter to the floor, not sure what to feel. the ends of her lips twitch, and she feels like her insides are about to combust.

the thoughts in her mind struggle to form. they’re bursting at the seams, wanting to form coherent thoughts but to no avail. her legs pick up speed, and before she knows it, she’s at the ocean bay.

she lets herself be concealed by the ocean.

and when nian comes back, she doesn’t know what to say.
there is not a scratch on her.
instead, she’s frowning.

“do i… know you?”

[womp womp]

she is surrounded by water.

her head below the surface, her body wrapped by cold waves.
she should be drowning. in fact, she should already be dead right now. she does look dead right now. a limp body, being carried by the ocean tide.

the only sign of her being alive is the faint smile worn on her face.

as far as ji’s concerned, she is not drowning. rather, she is layered with blankets composed of salt and water, lacking warmth but providing comfort.

she should be freezing right now, yet all she feels is a reassuring numbness that grips all of her senses.

mind clear —
and soul free.

she stays unmoving for a little while longer, before she eventually propels herself towards the surface. night had already fallen by the time she made her way back home. she was careful not to disturb nian, who was sleeping soundly in the other room.

she can’t remember if she’s brought nian to the ocean yet.
or, more precisely, this nian.

ji passes nian’s room, staring at the dark lump of woolen blankets as they rose and fell with each breath.

she’ll have to ask tomorrow.

frowning, she dragged her feet to her room and let exhaustion and the smell of saline lull her to sleep.

---

“you went to bed with wet hair again?”

“you can tell?”

“i mean, it looks all…” nian trailed off, making half-hearted hand gestures towards ji. ji merely hums in response.

the two sat in silence as they finished up their breakfast.

“i’m going to the ocean today.” ji mused.

“again?”

“yeah.”

“i’ll come along.”

ji didn’t reply. rather, she smiled softly before getting up and making her way to the cove. true to her word, nian blindly trailed behind her.

what took nian by surprise was when her unusual friend plunged herself right into the water. nan let out a sharp cry, watching as ji let herself be enveloped by the brisk ocean. “ji? ji?” her voice was becoming frantic. “ji!”

it didn’t take long before a hand reached out and grabbed her by the ankle.

and pulled her under.

she struggled for a moment, but a muffled giggle made her wriggling cease. she’s held in a temporary daze before she opens her eyes and realizes that ji is smiling.

oh.

she’s smiling.

ji lets go of the grip on nian’s hand, and points to the hourglass rung around her neck.

the sand doesn’t drain.

the two of them let themselves drift in the body of water, before nian starts panicking for air. ji’s eyes widen in realization and swiftly equips an odd looking piece of apparatus to nian.

nian breathes easy again.

the two float in a comfortable quiet, letting themselves get carried by the natural flow of waves.

“ji,” nian spoke, her words muffled by the water. “why are we here?”

ji failed to meet her gaze. she couldn't.

“the ocean is... not a place of worry.”

and that’s so devastatingly temporary.

[home]

・• Ｐ Ｌ Ａ Ｙ Ｌ Ｉ Ｓ Ｔ


✧ - one - hanabiratachi no march - amier

✧ - two - my time - bo en

✧ - three - lemon - 米津玄師

✧ - four - no title - REOL

✧ - five - against the sky - Vashti Bunyan

[home]

thank you for reading everything!! we hope you enjoyed it :] it was fun working on this together!

✧ - post titles from lyrics of hanabiratachi no march by amier

✧ - extra one: collab between sapphireish and ovktor

✧ - sand writing - ovktor

✧ - sea writing - sapphireish

✧ - relationship writing - sapphireish & ovktor