Artgirl

22// lune bleue, coeur bleu

thank you so much to @Fangirl44xx for this super cute mailboy cover!

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ARTGIRL 22: lune bleue, coeur bleu

"Lately in the evening/ Laying next to my lover/And the moon on your silhouette
Is my only guide and I can't even read your eyes/ So my mind slowly begins to wonder/ I wonder, will you be the last one I love?" Marc E. Bassy, Last One I Love

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Nicolas Bear Forrest

after / dark skies, bright hearts

AS A CHILD, STORMS FASCINATED ME. The slight tremble of the house, as if it was about to crumble to the ground. The sound of thunder striking a void in the city; it woke me up over and over, as if electrocuting me from head to toe. The heavy fall of rain on the rooftops helped me sleep when my insomnia had just started. The chaotic and yet so organized manner of it all had a soothing effect on my thoughts; my head felt completely empty, but everything was ever so clear.

After truly being conscious of them for the first time, I did as much research as a ten-year-old could. I asked my parents as many questions as I could, in two breaths. I watched two documentaries and was so caught up in it, that I sprouted facts about it in every conversation. I was so adamant on sharing what I knew that I presented it for show and tell, which angered my teacher but made my parents proud.

Ever since, as a storm's steps approached, I felt it to the bottom in my core. The weather announced it, of course, but I only checked it to confirm my thoughts. The air felt humid and thick, as if the environment was preparing itself for a catastrophe.

There was a storm in my heart as I looked at the computer screen. She was beautiful, a sleepy jumble of everything I ever wished on stars for. A mug of tea in her hands, she was smiling as I told her about the internship. The smile faded as I continued, telling her about the latest news. She listened patiently, reacted when she needed to and a solemn gloom seeped through the chat. We were miles apart, but she was all around me. The other bomb I dropped elicited a big laugh and big eyes. The joy and sadness merged into one and she tightened the covers around her shoulders.

"Nico," her voice was drowsy and quiet, she avoided waking up Jessie and her mum. "What do you want to do?"

I sighed, scratched the back of my neck. "I don't know. I thought telling you might help me make sense of everything."

"Well, did it?"

"Kind of. It made me realize something."

She cocked her head to the side and had a faint smile on her face, but then again: every time I saw her face ever since she reached Barcelona, a smile wasn't far away. "What? Talk to me, Forrest," she yawned. "Sorry. I'm a little sleepy."

Zoey was a lot. She could not be managed, she changed her mind about everything in a split second, she could hold a grudge and her anger could not be toyed with. Everything that surrounded her caught on fire, she was a shooting star that could not be stopped.

Being in love with her was the feeling of falling in love, irrevocably and deeply, surreptitiously in the span of a few moments. As she spoke next, I felt that love grow. "You know, no matter what happens, I'm here for you. Whether you decide to be a star or an office man," she laughed, "I've got you, remember? I've got no choice but to love you anymore."

I didn't answer. The walls in the room were tightening around my thoughts and they all turned to a mush of clarity.

"Forrest," she chuckled. "Are you still there? Is the screen frozen? Damn it. I told Jessie the wife was weak, but of course! She doesn't believe me. Nico? Hello?" Her waves are frantic. "Nicolas. I saw you blink."