PART TWO OF THE PEOPLE SERIES. welcome back to the Garggie Show where i write ranty stuff about something(???) i'm not even too sure what this one is about, or even how it ends (or even if it belongs to the people series tbh), so lemme know if you have a clue XD. also this is kinda romance-y, so maybe I'm growing as a writer?? pfff, yeah no. also, robbers by the 1975 is kinda a jam?? do good, be well. <3
T H E I N F I N I T E .
She was a girl of too much and yet not enough, a swirling whirlpool that dragged you down and down and down, the toughest brittle thing known to mankind. She was made of fragile glass, and even as she broke as life threw her down and down and down, she always fit her pieces back together again, mended with gold, smiling as she bore her scars for the world to see.
She was quietly unapologetic, kind and merciful but capable of destroying cities. She was not a wildfire that would burn you up, rather than a storm that could swallow you whole, destroying you in the most deliciously painful way.
But despite all that, despite being a livewire, she was not a hard girl. She was soft. In all of her muscle and sinew and lines and ferocious loving she was soft and gentle and tentative, like the small smiles that broke across her face, water breaking through cracks in a dam. She laughed like bells, faint and high, slowly warming your body up from the inside out.
She was a girl who reminded you of the lights at a gas station when it was dark, biting and soothing, transporting you to a twilight zone where nothing existed. She was playlists and giddy smiles after texts and wildflowers that bloomed over your skin, until one day, you found yourself covered.
She was ink-stained fingers and gentle touches, random texts without proper punctuation. She was lazy Sunday mornings and short stories and peppermint hot chocolate. She was sunny fields and stormy skies, mercurial sides to the same coin that she embodied.
She was hunched shoulders from heavy burdens and growing up too young – Atlas, you think one night – and the deep yearning to watch the constellations laying in the grass, shirt damp from the late-night dew. To watch the stars and make stories about her because she was a girl belonging to legends. You could swear that she was. A heroine who faced the odds and got their hands burned and somehow won, in whatever way people of tragedies can, a heroine misplaced in your time.
(You hope her story is not a tragedy, however.)
As she stand in front of you, she is a knee-length dress with cherry stained lips and strong features broken by a hazy smile that makes it seem like she was the sun and she shone for you. She is ocean eyes and bitten to the quick nails and a magnetic force that pulls you like gravity. She was a thing that makes you want to let yourself get lost in her energy, crushed by her strength, mended by her words. But she is a girl of kindness and tranquil waters, and she always makes sure that you didn't get sucked up into her storm.
(Some days you wished she let you.)
But as she stands in front of you, her paradoxical yet perfectly fitting pieces come together, and although you are sure you are a broken thing, for a moment it feels that she is the salvation that you're looking for; that she is the steel-wool that smooths the edges that you have been born with, edges that have always gotten caught in your life. She was a girl – not perfect in any way – but you see her as the closest thing to whole you ever will be, and you may not believe in fate, but she is the stars, and by god you believe in her.
And she stands in front of you, you can watch as the weight on her shoulders grows heavy with every word, shoulders slumping as she confesses that she belongs to tragedy and that there is still time to leave, still time to save yourself as if she doesn't understand that she is your salvation.
Some stories don't have happy endings, some just end. And although she maybe is a girl of tragedy, you are a one of adamancy, and you cannot leave. There is too much to know about this girl, who is both too much yet not enough and you are consumed by her sheer being yet never can know her enough. There is too much of her and you get lost in it, wanting nothing more. And somehow, this girl who is many things although not everything, slots into your life in a way you never knew possible.
As you stand in front of her, you tell her that you're staying, that hesitant smile on cherry stained lips breaks across her face, the cruel world resting for a moment in her brilliance and you discover-
she is infinite.
...
YOU ARE READING
ab initio, ad infinitum
Random"from the beginning, to infinity." or me slapping down words on paper when i feel something and pretending i had an objective, all while using too many curse words. //ran. will sporadically update. very excessive use of expletives. © garggie.
