I think, maybe, it might be that we'll always just be stumbling into one another, the world constantly turned on its side like someone's trying to stop the bleeding, as we reach blindly out for something to hold onto. I think, maybe, it might be a silence stretching out,(more) bathing in the sun, and my mouth as dry as the Sahara, a dead ocean.
I think, maybe, it might be your hand in mine. (less)
I've been struggling lately with my faulty memories. I don't know where to look in this empty house, which floorboards to brush the dust off of and tear up and find all the words I wanted to say, and I don't know where to find the key to break(more) the code of all the things I really meant. It's -
I've lost my way, I've forgotten which path to take to go home, and I'm really getting tired of stumbling around in the dark, all alone and afraid - not of turning around and seeing someone behind me, but of turning around and not seeing that girl - the one with big eyes and bigger dreams and the determination to make it happen. I'm afraid of having to let her, let that go.
If I don't have her, who - what am I at all? (less)
Finally, it's her hands shoving his chest, her hair whipping around her as his stomach lurches like he's about to throw up ("Stop just lying there and - and taking it all! Take a fucking risk for once in your life!") that pulls the dice from his hand, an(more) alternate force of gravity; but it's only when he's won everything that he realizes what he paid - what he lost. (less)
It's going on 1 in the morning and she's pacing from wall to wall, biting her nails when, with the biggest, smuggest, most satisfied smile plastered all over his stupid face, he waltzes into the room, spins around, and falls backward onto her bed, arms spread wide like he's(more) half-expecting her to fall into them.
For a moment she's still so stunned to see him alive and in one piece and - and victorious that she isn't sure how to react; then, making a split-second call, she jumps onto the bed beside him on her knees and drives her fist into the tender part of his stomach, just about as hard as she can.
"You - you're such an - you idiot, you jackass!" she says, ignoring the laugh he forces out around his grown as he lurches up from the blow. "How did you - I don't get - I can't even begin to comprehend how you could've pulled that off!"
He spreads one hand helplessly, the other clutching his stomach. "Got me," he wheezes, as she stares, still not quite sure whether she should be angry or ashamed or amazed or some combination of them all - "Maybe a lot of luck?"
His smile turns a little soft. Finally starting to laugh, too - because god, she can hardly believe he's actually here and that he actually just did that, that actually just happened, she witnessed that - she flings her arms around his neck, forcing him back down again, and thinks (and she's so close he might even hear it), thank you, thank you, thank god. (less)
He's never been able to do it right - something about the way he flicks his wrist, something he does or maybe doesn't do with his fingers that screws the whole thing up. Tara teases him mercilessly for it, jabs her elbow into his side with a lopsided smile(more) and her eyes full of sky, and the ease with which she pulls her arm back and snaps it forward again - one, two, three, four before he stops paying attention - he could watch her until the lake ran dry. (less)
He's bent over, hands on his knees, gasping as he tries to get some air back into his searing lungs, but he doesn't give himself the chance - "Faster," he rasps, his voice sharp and white before his eyes, "you're gonna have to be faster."
(more) His heart is pounding so hard his ribcage must be on the verge of cracking open, like maybe it thinks it'll be setting something free. Maybe it'll lead him to her.
He lifts his feet again on the wings of that thought, pushing himself forward, thinking that it wouldn't be so bad if his heart were to burst right out of his chest; just as long as it's enough. (less)
"It's mine," he says, in a voice that rings with new clarity, and steps forward from the shadows of the throne room with a fire blazing in his eyes. Gone is the child who fought his sister over the best toys with the meaty hands of a toddler -(more) this man has cradled the world in his palms, and wears it on a chain around his bent, tired neck. "And I will take it back." (less)
There were stars in your eyes then, shining through the darkness; you were the lighthouse standing tall and proud and strong at the edge of the world. The sun lay down and kissed your feet every night and she would murmur your name as though the universes you held(more) in the tips of your fingers were God, until with a crack you split the cosmos apart and all the nebulae went still and quiet and watchful.
What are you now, trapped in a glittering shattered glass prison, fighting for the conservation of dark matter but not the more important matters, lowering your rotted gaze from her reflection and turning your back to her as she crouches over her clasped bloody hands: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, please forgive me, God forgive me"; but the stars have all fallen and painted themselves black, and there's nowhere left for them to go but down. (less)
He's pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her jaw when her fingers slip on the final buttons of his shirt; she threads her fingers through his hair and tugs, hard, at the same time pressing his head into her as he moves down, down; he nips at the lie caught(more) in her throat, smoothing it over with his tongue, and her skin tastes like guilt and feels wrong with smooth perfection, but there's an animal stirring from its hibernation inside him that is so close to being human for the first time in so long that it's impossible for him to believe that this could be anything but right. (less)
As she lies awake, her mind is filled by nothing else but the broad curve of his back, the soft hairs that stick up at the nape of his neck, the grateful smirk he throws at her over his shoulder, his eyes black and bright. He holds out his(more) hand. She mirrors him and he presses something heavy and cold into her palm, into her heart; when she looks down, she sees he's wrapped her fingers around the handle of a gun. She writes her name on the burden and holsters it. (less)