𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

Restless

5 months ago

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Where do you think we'll be tomorrow

Where we are now? Or somewhere else

Would we be who we were, yesterday

Think how we thought and feel how we felt

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It takes six seconds to tear the seal off of a standard paper envelope, and only two to open a letter. Five seconds to digest every infliction of black ink and no more than ten for the brain to catch up with the eyes.

It only took twenty three seconds to break Florence.

She had been dropped carelessly and left in pieces the cold hard floor. Unrecognizable fragments of something that once held beauty. Fragment which would take far longer than twenty three seconds to pick up and piece back together.

She wasn't talking to him. He hadn't remembered and that was that. Florence woke up that morning and headed out to complete her chores, leaving a battered and busted boy sleeping on her floor. A boy who was no longer there when she returned.

She hadn't heard a word from him since. No casual greetings or professional requests, not even a friendly look in the hallways. It was as if he had disappeared. She knew where to find him, or at least she thought she did, knowing that he was most likely sitting by candlelight in a tree somewhere, but didn't want to seek him out.

Surely if he had wanted to talk to her, he would've done it by now. And she wanted to believe that if he had remembered what had taken place that night, he wouldn't just brush it off. It weighed on Florence in every sense of the word.

A rift had grown between the two unbeknownst to her. She was willing to put recent events behind her but maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was still harboring some deep feeling of guilt, even if she had assured him otherwise.

Nonetheless, she found herself sprinting to wherever he may be. All she knew was that she needed him now. No more worrying about whether or not he wanted to talk to her, whether she should approach him first. She needed him.

A sense of empty occupation rushed over her thoughts. Her mind blank, and yet somehow exhausted. She couldn't feel the tears themselves, rather the cold sting of air brushing against her face. Her movements were hasty, stumbling with each step as she pushed through the tall grass under moonlight.

A familiar distant glow presented itself, letting her know that he was there. That she could be with him in a matter of minutes. Her appearance was of no concern at the moment. Hair having been let down in preparation to sleep, running in a pale blue nightgown, the front of which had probably been darkened by the tears dripping from her chin.

Breath had escaped her, she was drowning above water. The air around her turned to void as it refused to enter her lungs. Climbing up the knotted rope hung to a sturdy branch had proved such a struggle, but Florence was far too engrossed to pay any attention to the burning sensation coming over her entire body.

She froze at the sight of him. The flickers of calm and relief in his eyes confusing her before realizing that he did not yet know what she herself did.

"I've been waiting for-" It's his turn to freeze. Whatever glimpse of peace that she had previously seen in his gaze had been swiftly replaced by worry and dread. "Flo?" He was being careful, quiet, as if raising his voice would topple her fragile self over the edge. But his efforts went to waste, for you can't break what had already been broken.