We stood on the hill beyond and watched the city burn. Flames lit the night, and dark shadows winged overhead.
The goddess put her hands on my face and said, “You see my will.”
There was a strand of silver in her autumn hair. I touched it gently,(more) and the war in her eyes dimmed for a moment.
“Are you the god of fear?” she asked, her palms warming against my cheeks.
“I was made for you,” I said. “I am yours.”
She sighed, and the war burned again.(less)
the radio said it was a nice day for a white wedding. we sped along the interstate in her little grey sedan, her right hand on mine. as the twilight came, it felt like a last meal more than anything else. we would not be seeing each other again.(more)
"it's like a hot air balloon ride," she said.
"i know what you mean." we rode along the highway in silence for a bit. both of her hands were on the wheel. too nervous to touch, too nervous to say anything, we passed through the northern coast of washington and watched the ocean melt in liquid bronze.
"i'm happy we met" she finally said. i looked at her and i could tell that she understood. we pulled up at a ma and pa shop, went in, and got two heinekens. back in the car, with the front doors open we sat and watched the waves and ate boiled eggs with cayenne.
"they're good," i said.
"my dad's farm. there's nothing like fresh eggs."
"cayenne is really good for you, too."
"for circulation, your metabolism, everything." i finished my egg and took a sip of the lukewarm beer. it was getting dark. there was nothing more to eat or drink and there was nothing and everything else to do.
a week later, we were sending each other poetry. two months later, and she was with someone else. a naval officer. five months after that and i was on the opposite coast recalling the way the sun made her blonde hair look like a crown of garden flowers. a couple days ago she called late at night, my wife picked up and i pretended not to know who was on the other line.
In that dim light, I could just barely make out the delicate curves of her body as they shadowed against the lamp. Her arms were outstretched, beckoning me to her in the wan light. I hesitated as she eyed me expectantly. She was beautiful; flawless, alabaster skin that flowed(more) like cream over her did little to dissuade me from the inevitable.
Count the ways that the night could end. Count the moments you don't want to forget. This is one of them. Watch the way the bed sags to her weight, the subtle squeak of the springs as you move towards her. Remember the feeling of her breath on your neck, the way her hands glide down your back. Never forget the smell of her perfume. When you're in your darkest hours remember her, for she may never remember you.
A note left bedside in the morning. The quiet click of the door closing, and she was gone. The memory was what remained. "Call me, you know the number," read the note. A smile was the reply. Eventually he would call, and eventually they would reunite. She would show again with her wry smile and pulled back hair ready for another night out or another night in. There was no preference. The day laid out in front of him, he lay back in bed for now there was time to be wasted. For now there was a lifetime ahead.
Count the ways the night could have ended. Count the ways where life will go. Remember this moment, remember the curve of her handwriting and her imprint on the bed. When you're in your darkest hours remember what led here. You know she'll remember too.(less)
for I am the dim light, lazily illuminating the path before you. I do not provoke or inspire, catching the darkness with all my able. I am you - and you are me. Slowly fading away, but never to falter. Always standing, never to stop. There because you want(more) to be there. Chasing because you dream to chase. So contradictory you are, dim light. You are here, in the present. You have potential for more. But your happiness as you are is proof enough. Enough to keep me walking by. Enough to let me see the rain. Enough to let me pass the cars. Just enough, but never enough. (less)
fey can't see quin's face as he stands in the doorway, taking up less of it than he should. the light from the moon illuminates neither his features nor the reason for his midnight visit to the room she shares with birdie. she sits up, reaching for birdie, thinking(more) she must be the one he wants.
"don't wake her," he says and she stays her hand. "i'm sorry, i just." he swallows. it sounds like he's swallowing tacks. "will you eat with me? i'm hungry."
she doesn't hesitate. it's the first time quin's eaten without prompting in all the time she's known him. she wants so badly to include birdie in this, to include all the others, but the moment may pass if she tries (may vanish forever, never to be seen again if they overwhelm him).
she uses all her self-control to keep herself from cooking all the food in the kitchen for him. it takes him three hours to eat the salad he tosses together and she barely breathes the whole time.(less)