flawless

this is me trying.

happy birthday to our birdie-loving artist. enjoy. 

- 𓅪 -

now playing... possibility - lykke li

You've been having a hard time adjusting.

It's been one year since you began your new prophetic chapter here in the city of Liberio, Marley. A city right off the coast known for its piers, population, and university – the sole reason why you were here, sitting on a concrete bench watching the boats sail off to the west, where your old life resided. It was cold, that part never changed. Clouds harbored your sights with each passing hour, you wondered if the people here even knew of a sun. Naturally, it was always weather for a sweater or a scarf, or both as you were right now.

You weren't very accustomed to the cold, your whole life being warmed by Eldia's clear skies and the feeling of familiarity, all the opposite of change.

Your body was covered by the oversized brown leather jacket you had in the bottom of your suitcase, it was a gift from your father during one of the countless outings you went on in preparation for moving to Marley. You'll be right on the coast, he'd say, make sure you wear lots of layers. Next to you lay a small muffin wrapped in a napkin, baked freshly down the street. Around your neck lay a vintage scarf, which didn't do much unless you rested your chin right on top of it, as you were right now.

It was hard to read by the ocean currents, the wind demanding to be felt with each paper forcibly turned against your nimble fingers. It was even harder to write, the combination of the wind wanting to move on to the next page yet your mind, soul, hand, and everything else that came with the passage of writing simply could not follow at the same pace made for a battle each time you tried, the victor forever being nature.

If it wasn't for the loose braid resting on your slightly hunched back, more than just small strands of hair would be flowing in the wind. You couldn't deny that it felt nice in a sense to feel a wind, a force of air demanded to be felt - it reminded you that you still had feelings left to feel beyond the blank paper underneath you. You couldn't pinpoint why, but the second you realized so, you began to feel your eyes warm just like Eldian rays, just to water just like Marleyan coasts.

Tears slowly fell, your mascara-coated lashes rapidly blinking as the cold air now felt harsh against your nimble skin. The boats became blurry due to tears and smaller due to departure.

You felt blurry due to tears, and smaller due to departure.

One year has passed since you've been on the other side of the ocean, the other side that had another version of a girl who was lost somewhere along the way in this deep, translucent blue ocean. One year has passed and you held a standard beyond just academic validation, but academic excellence. That part hasn't changed, it was easy to focus on school when you didn't have anyone to talk to, or even somewhere to go. It was easy to fall back on school when nothing else was available to give you a sense of approval. Your nails traced around the small flowers painted on your trusty journal, the tips of your fingers feeling frozen against the cold surface. It wasn't a friend, one with warmth emitting through their skin, but it was comfort. Comfort from a small piece of bound, beige pages and obsidian ink filled with thoughts and words and feelings that could've been said out loud, but would have been wasted; no one would be listening anyway.

In a world full of people, wonders, and sights, with feet planted in the middle of it and eyes ready to embrace it all, you had nowhere to go.

You took a bite of your muffin in a threat to feel better, the lump in your throat just magnifying as it went down. You kept eating it, looking up at the sky to witness the seagulls flying right above the boats which were now just miniscule to sight. Cinnamon, the ones back home are better, you wrote. You force the forty-three or so encapsulated muscles to work against your will and move the curves of your skin-toned lips which began to feel tighter as the wet tears and cold wind met above them, hoping to feel something other than what you were feeling right now. Cinnamon, just like the ones we'd eat together, you wrote.