Tend Towards

A Light for Emily and a Letter for June

A soft and low ring of water droplets striking glass echo through the hallways, almost in rhythm with his gentle breathing, which carries a much greater presence in the room.

In the distance, above the treelines, a falling star blinks its red lights, like a descending flare that fades into the horison. A more pressing matter - though easier to abstain from - is the luminescent green in his eyes, calling for attention with a curious glance. 

"I cannot allow this," he whispers eventually. "I shall shriek if you absolutely insist on continuing this nonchalance. It's maddening."

"You arrived when I was weak." Her voice was trained to betray no emotion, and though it was a facet of her upbringing she loathed, she could silently thank her stern mother for her stern lessons.  "You make me feel like a child."

June's eyes are tempting pools of forest grass. She can almost hear their calm, surreal call, luring her to get lost in them again. It is all she could do to resist. Even so, it's maddening, and she might shriek before June avails his opportunity to do so. 

When she looks, she almost does shriek from the frustration. His eyebrows are furrowed ever so slightly, a balance precariously between concern and condescension, though she reminds herself to remain composed in a poise of casual aloofness.

"For as long as you've been here with me, June, I haven't needed to voice my thoughts for you to know them. What has changed?"

The silence overcomes her, and the soft, low ring of water on glass mixes with June's easy, delicate breathing. Somewhere on the horison, a light appears, and Junes face grows warmer, softer. 

"I wish I wouldn't have to tell you myself, June."

"Then write me a letter. Though it infuriates me that you must leave, I will bear this in good grace. Leave the letter when you depart, and I shall read it when you are gone."

Emily nodded, feeling the stones in her chest lift. "You know I won't return."

"I do."

The presence of anger lifts, and peace alights itself upon her. Emily allows a moment for a smile to pierce her facade. "I love you June, I always will. Thank you."

June's seems retired. His posture slack and he drops a lazy arm on her shoulder, halfheartedly hugging her. She supposes he might be struggling with encouragement and loss in the moment, but his face is turned towards the light on the horison. 

He relieves her from the hug, and leaves her alone in the room.

The sound of water on glass mingles with the emptiness he left behind and the sound of his heavy, receding footsteps. 

Emily looks out at the horison. A sharp light builds up. Tomorrow she leaves. 

It doesn't matter where she goes, or why she goes. What matters is she can and she wants to. She'll write a letter for June and then be rid of herself. Her smile doesn't fade.