Seven And Thirteen

..
My darling, you have left me in complete disarray.

I can conceal the thunder for a quarter of a century, if we must go there again.

It happened to be that the street I lived on functioned perfectly only when in greyscale, and that’s how I learnt how to be clever with The Dark. 

Alone and wearing a peach tea dress, she stood at the mouth of the cave clutching her favourite globe. The average person would have seen the globe as quite unremarkable; it was not an ornate antique and it’s markings were not careful or beautiful, however, for one reason or another, Ms Aston held the globe to her chest with the amount of care usually reserved for a newborn child. Her frail hands were somehow strong around its crude lime green continents and turquoise oceans. Over the years it’s cheap plastic exterior had dramatically distorted which had left the time zones in disarray, but she hadn’t seemed to notice. This modest keepsake had played a crucial part in the best seconds of her long life…

Patriarchal woods,

Daughter of metropolis.

That’s unrequited.

Marie focused what was left of her attention to the coarse twine which she had used to suspend her very own Planet Earth from the ceiling. She twisted it delicately between her fingers and closed her eyes to exist in the Panthéon for a moment or two. In her mind, she imagined how it would feel to endure an adventure of thirty-two hours; giving power to something over the corrupt celestial observations which had brought her to this godforsaken place. Opening them, her vision adjusted to the cracked glass stars which she’d hung her Earth amidst. She grimaced at the colour grey. 

She resisted the urge to write for you today, and with that decision the ivory bones in her fingers tensed for a fraction of time before they broke, splintering into a thousand tiny, delicate swords which crashed like a storm beneath her skin. 

It’s in my heart but it will not stay.

Chaos ensued; grand splinters of our shattered moon were plummeting with a force like-no-other towards us, and we could feel the ground creak and crash as oceans spun in turmoil to frenzied storms. It really wasn’t the right time for Vena to explain her awkward sadness but in fear for herself she clasped my hand and spilt her reasons.

How does the wind have the nerve to knock me down like that?

to keep me safe and wild.