leftover nostalgia

[ruse]

flashlight in hand, i ran with winter in my lungs. my fingers shaking, i remember it was hard to differentiate the reason for it between the sun slipping away and the adrenaline mingling with the normality within me. the pictures i took of the sunset dying were bleached in a blue kind of setting, dreamy and dreary, like sleep was sneaking up from behind. i still don't know the reason for it; the blue filter like a spirit's fingers got caught on camera before they could flee. when i came back to the car, the sky, the beach, everything blue became dipped in the night. i unlocked my phone in the dark drenched with quiet, thumbing through six photos that look nearly the same, all blue blue blue. i thought about how i would tell you about this later, tell you how i laughed, the swears i was hiding beneath my tongue, on a beach where no one would listen on. and how the details of a few hours ago already start to slip by me like the sun from day.
and yet, how my loose feet, wobbly footsteps remain like an heartbeat. i withhold the details of how everything about me is unsteady except my heart saying, i wish i could find you again. i laugh to cover up the lost words, crave to be closer to you. my first post in two months is this wow

[ruse]

we could be close enough to hold hands under the table but
it'd still feel like stars' widths apart to me with the you now.
--
i imagine us two together again and you are there, unbreaking and lovely as always.
you look at me with those fond eyes i only see now with my eyes closed, and
a greeting falls from your lips like, space a fairytale woven for a child's nighttime endeavors;
there's distance between us and i know,
there's always been distance there but space it gaps wider now,
like it needs space more room to breathe.
you seem more like a dream everyday
and i keep finding myself sleeping longer to keep you closer.

i wake up at strange hours and the moon is there to stir me back from the dreamy you,
this space water-rippled, desaturated version of you i can’t space grasp space completely still;
you have more room to breathe without me there, you seem space so much brighter
the farther you are.
you are so divine without me. i have to blink back my tears to truly space glimpse you;
maybe i have become unused to the brilliant you again.
space maybe
this is how it should be.
-
(so i let you go,
i stay silent as you look
at a point beyond me and smile. you move forward.
i drop to the floor quietly so you don't hear.
the last vestiges
of you,
your light,
leaves me and i am
alone again.) i am where i belong, as are you.

[ruse]

space she comes in like a winter wind. the bell dangling above the door chimes violently, the door stretches until it whines and hits the wall. heavy breathing, wide eyes. a girl in black, slovenly dark hair. she almost seems to glow in her anger, thick brows wound like seams in a cotton sweater. she catches her breath, pinpointing ginerva behind the counter. ginerva feels unstable in her own body but she quickly rearranges herself into the polished eggshell version of herself again as the stranger marches toward the counter. the girl looks at ginerva like she’d left her and never looked back. ginerva looks at her like she can’t see the other girl’s happiness dropping heartbeat by heartbeat, the worth of her life slipping by like water through open palms. she waits for her to speak, knowing a terse “welcome” or “how may i help you?” would not suffix in this situation.

“i know what you’re capable of,” the girl starts, a fist landing on the glass between them.
ginerva laughs evenly, as if it were still an option to pretend at this point. “do you?”
the girl considers for a moment, hesitance evident in her teeth cradling her bottom lip before she recovers. ginerva wonders if the girl could read through the fragility of her affectation, then hearing the other girl bring her back to herself. “i know you can do things that seem impossible. i want to start everything over again.” her voice has taken on a more grated sound and something in her eyes changes, softens.

and there’s that space again, the waiting for one to say more. it feels like the stranger’s words were incomplete, cut off like long, heavy hair. ginerva nonetheless picks up where the girl’d left off. as she speaks, she feels her gaze on her, weighty and attentive. “you’re right when you said that i can do things that seem impossible. but i, unfortunately, do not deal with the impossible directly.”
the girl replies, “what do you mean by not dealing with impossibility directly? the impossible can happen, it happened to me-” and she bites her tongue and digs her nails into the palms she’s holding by her sides and ginerva can see that she’s vibrating, like she wants to erupt but she stays in control somehow and asks something else. “what can you give me instead?”

ginerva considers for a moment, the instability of this woman and what she sees of her future and what would gin do if she let her go? so she tells her, “we buy time, memories, lifespans and health. we sell dreams, happiness, despair, health, and memories.”
“i want to sell a year.” the ache, the hardness of her has shifted away, as if she’s cooled down. she seems more tired now and real. curiosity whispers against ginerva’s hair, goosebumps lines her arms. ginerva ignores it, as she does all feelings conflicting with her mind. she tells her the implications of selling things of this nature, the lilt in her voice memorized after years of warning people against giving away what’s supposed to be irreplaceable.

“it’s a deal, we’ll see each other again tomorrow then.” ginerva wavers for a second but it feels like an eternity with the way this girl’s gaze rests on her like street lights on the sidewalk. “by chance, can i have your name before you go? i’m ginerva.”
“amelie.”
space and amelie is gone, like a heartbeat.


────────────── ── ─
space au based on three days of happiness ,,, feat. gin and amelie :) it's p cool i like it even tho i didnt touch it for like a straight up month until yesterday. anyways. who wants to hear about my warrior cats site au

[ruse]

the mornings start and end with them, tangled together in some capacity.
sometimes trey asks [name] to sing for him, sing him a song they found in a faraway kingdom because he's so shut into his own. and [name] does, neglecting to mention that it's actually one from their real childhood, and their mother and father used to sing it to one another when things were still good good.
other times, they lay in bed or on the floor, embracing the cold or the warm but always each other. these are the times [name] is enthralled by most, these kept moments where they can count the seconds and the voices that pass by their locked doors, match their breathing to his and tally the number of eyelashes as if they ever drastically changed in number.
the days pass like the sunset falling away after the high. this time, they've stolen paints from the residential painter of the palace and have taken liberties with their aesthetic endeavors. the concentration breaks after five minutes; afterwards, they take to kissing and feeling each other's sighs as their fingers glide on the other's skin. [name] lays on their stomach, making a flesh pillow from the crossing of their arms, as trey drags his blue, blue fingers across their skin.
trey never questions the scars. instead he says, "you are so beautiful, too beautiful," and integrates them into his steady finger-painting. [name] thinks it must be ironic, that the colors repel and attract each other just as they and atreyu do, and that the ocean color of their lover’s fingers always feels warmer than the scarlet of their sage scars.
they melt into relative silence, the only noises being the wind brushing against their hair and atreyu’s fingers on [name]. they open their eyes, catching details of their shared bedroom. the walls, flaky where they kissed the ground, result of atreyu’s anxious fingers and tendency to huddle by walls in deep thought. the deteroriating marble column they dragged in after visiting the broken temple. their blankets touching the cold floor, held hostage in limbo. atreyu, the man who possessed their heart as they did his.
he hums, studying [name] with his practiced lightheartedness. it dawns on [name] that their lover hadn’t spoken in hours, though he appears so serene, content. he resembles a doll, a dream. “trey, love, what’s wrong?”
a corner of atreyu’s mouth lifts; he scoffs, sounding disheartened. the paint had dried a while ago, but atreyu had been tracing unidentifiable shapes into [name]’s skin until now.
he looks at them again. they don’t recognize him anymore.
“[name]. do you have to leave?”

[name] wakes up from their dream. slumber still settles on their eyelids, mind misty. it feels empty. the bed, the mind, the heart. the warmth is gone.
"he had 176 eyelashes," they tell the quiet. and he thought i was beautiful.
the quiet leaves no reply.


it’s been hundreds of years since they’ve actually heard the smile in his voice but it still lingers, like the two of them were still on his bed together and the world was confined to those walls.
[name] recalls that atreyu has carried these aches of age and work for years and how they only lasted nine days for them, and the voice that occupied their head afterwards: that was the last of him, that was the last of his soul. [name] can’t figure out if it had been the phantom pain that shook their shoulder and whose voice that had drowned in their mind, or their own pain from the continual, repeating realization of their lover’s death.
they decide that it was both, romanticizing the whole of the experience altogether. because, in the end, it all feels the same to them; the case had always been that what was theirs was always atreyu's as well, then and now ─ it almost hurts to know that he is gone from them in everything except faithless memory.


────────────── ── ─
space (part of) a story of one who trades in emotion and memory for eternal life and has, against all odds, fallen in love with someone they cannot keep. they don't have a name bc i cant/dont want to decide rn lmao. atreyu is that loved individual, second prince to a kingdom i also refuse to name. he doesn't get to go out much, but he meets this person of mystery somehow anyways; like there's something (hint! it's fate) bigger at play. there is more to the story but i cant/dont want to finish it [slow wink] enjoy and leave a like, sponsor my an*me acrylic charm collection and ego if u love it enough thank