Beneath the overhang of tension we hesitate, wait for words to settle, be withdrawn, or apologies offered. Curses spoken in haste provoke an impulsive, immediate reaction, an equal cutting response. We've lived and suffered the consequences before. Allowed actions as instinctive as **** to run raw. And we've been subjected to it's prideful display. Guilty as a drunk's song waking dogs in the wee hours and as certain as sure we were right all along.
A timble of breath spills with her "yes" eyes respond honestly yet edged with a trickle of nervousness as her fingers trace contours of flesh along forearm and bicep then leap to cup nape of neck and lure tentative steps between distance of our lips. And lids close out the rest as the kiss inhales a timble of my breath
Her smile kinda skipped across the room ricocheted off glinting lights shooting him straight in the gut, winding him something awful. He stood to mosey on over to her nonchalant, but his confidence shattered. Sinking back down in a slump before others bore witnessed, a sigh released speaking what he couldn't, "she still got to him."
She gathers up the lost dreams the old and the broken the dying and the stolen neglected and fogotten then carefully carries them in a spider spun satchel takes them to her home in the meadow where she carefully mends them till they're strong enough to fly on wings of hope eternal back to those that most need them. The ones that have no one to return to, return to live in the wishtree by her garden and when it's time they help guide her to dreams newly lost and broken.
Stars prickle the darkness counterpoints to measure its vastness they steal eyes and gift wonderment allow birth of dream and scientific torment they witness and receive wishes, they exist yet many are no longer in existence the closest is only seen in its loneliness yearning to shed the veil of blue
Was the lover you took worth the hurt you inflicted on the one you left? How long did that part of your heart set flight before the door last slamed? Was the goodbye coiled ready to strike like a hidden snake waiting to be poked the wrong way? Or were the fangs always on display as honest and as bitter as the bite