it was late autumn, and she had asked me a question that had made me think before i impulsively answered,
"if you could personify life and death, how would you describe it, ezra?"
why had she asked me? my words do not have spaces between them, and my mind is a constant storm, so why, oh why, did she ask me?
"i know you're good with words," her eyes shone sparkling bronze, like the armor the Greek wore once, for she is strong, and resilient,
and the girl i simply think about too much.
"life is the color i use to paint the sky, and death is the gold in your eyes," was what i had whispered to her,
and just like that, the calm stream of water was disrupted as though rocks were thrown into it.
lips pursed, and eyes dark like an oncoming tornado, she remained quiet,
"what about you?" i had asked her, my eyes on fire as they watched hers drown.
"i think life keeps on giving gifts to her lover; death. and he keeps taking, because he can't repay her back with life, so he... takes care of her gifts," like an owl in the night searching for prey, her voice was quiet.
and i think about what she said, and i think about how she keeps giving me small glimpses of smile that fill my heart with light,
and how her laugh flutters into my ears, and tangles my stomach into knots, and makes my hands shake with nervousness,
then maybe she is life.
maybe.
but, like i said, i'm just infatuated,
and love doesn't exist,
and neither do fairy tales.
and i'm hoping she doesn't change that for me,
because then, i'd be living my life wrong.
yet i cannot allow myself to think that,
i can't afford to.
so i just remember how
the gold running through my veins match the color of her eyes,
and the scars on her canvas just enhance her dark, unruly locks, like the mane of a lion,
she is fearless.
yet fears herself.
- late autumn
YOU ARE READING
growing wings | Completed
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