MERCURIAL ( paul atreides.. )

011. Amnesty with No Options..

There is no book which teaches the language of love. There are no papers which can contain the languished sighs of a lover's lament, who rues away in rotten meet that craves too deeply even for the deepest seas or the darkest corners of the universe, where no stars' light could reach. There are no words that can mend suspires and soughs, birthed in the carried torch or hidden in the bemoaning of lonely nights spent away cries shared to the celestial realms or aches confessed to the ground in which the soul plunges. No book could ever hope to teach the nuances of desire, how each hand which touches this linguistic brush vibrates on a different resonance and strikes a different technique on the canvas of their needs' flesh. There are as many subtleties as there are stars, as many overtones to pining as there are souls relearning how to exist in another's sensuality.

Linguists scorn at the only language whose parameters change faster than the pages of a book blown away by the wind, scattering to nonsense much like the white flakes of a dandelion in the last stage of its cycle. An eloquent understanding of this yearning vernacular can only happen successfully when the bodies partaking in the conversation are known, and when the entire expectation of any words being exchanged had but completely vanished. 

They haven't spoken a single word since the hidden door neared a close behind them; not a single sound had escaped the gravitational pull of exhaled bleats for so long that the moment had infiltrated the tight circle of normalcy in indulging with the bruising of their knees as they fell on the ground together, embraced and intertwined in veils of murmurs, of tired breaths, tickled into each other's shoulder. From its intensity high, it was actions which ruled over the need for words, shunning their brutality compared to the tenderness of Mercury removing her stillsuit's gloves or in the rawness with which Paul shivered to hold on to her. 

If he was a leaf, then she was the branch and the whole world was a roaring storm blowing its cutting wind since the moment his mother died and became Jessica. The betrayal flared all dangers of calamity into his aching heart, it relit fires which he would have never guessed were dormant behind the curtains of his mind, making him utter of destructions, indistinguishably as he hid the epitome of a face's weakness into her shoulder. 

And she held him, not because his pain had echoed into her body and tears dripped from her eyelashes onto her skin, wailing their own sorrow for the people who died in Arrakeen or demanding their personal relief from the closeness she so openly desired like a fool, but rather because it was civil of her to do so and she did not mind not having any other choice. Mercury embraced the paradox of being free while deprived of options, because there was no sovereignty which would have made her feel more at peace than the dependence on thoughts about Paul. There was unfairness, one she could not stand the bitterness of, in ever ghosting a decision of abandoning him to the lonesome mourn. 

Perhaps it had once been terrifying to appreciate how obedient her adoration made her -if Paul had to walk through hell, she'd walk the whole distance with him to hold his hand-, but now she knew better than to underestimate the strength behind passion, for it was that alone which kept her mind from slipping permanently into shadows. To love was to be weak and strong, at the same time, for the same person, even knelt into sand riddled rocks, breathing a suffocating atmosphere, clogged with dust and warmth that dissatisfied the lungs and pinched the brain in drowsiness, which either way, belonged to the quiet privacy they've gained. 

It was a bliss and a torture to be alone with their thoughts, because while it was each other's arms which guarded their fragile hearts from another merciless tear, the silence poked the dam of their emotions. Behind her barely opened eyes, past that blurred gaze she casted on a world reduced to a single hallway, tight enough to barely fit them both on its ground, laid Mercury's box of urges, of curiosities, of interests she's deemed unspeakable and vulgar for so long that it caught an ancient mysticism to finally open the lock and take what was inside with validation and normalcy. These desires' unfulfilled aches had come alive like a bruise being scratched too roughly the moment -which now was embedded permanently on the perfect lucidity of her memory- Paul had called her appellatives she's only ever dreamt of.