la calendula.
ˏ act ii, scene i.
ˏ blemishes
﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉
𝕿he ride was rather bumpy.
though the peaks of sunlight through small fissures of a green canopy and the vast expanse of empty azure welkins was enough to soften the heart, perhaps enough to say it made the insufferable ride somewhat worth it. a smooth breeze brushed against sun-kissed skin, making black curls bounce and sway.
the idyllic landscape before the teenager made them absentmindedly sigh, mind wandering empty loops of senseless thoughts - all that somehow traced back to their reason for moving.
"amor," mother firmly stated in her elegant voice when questioned regarding the matter. mother was no singer, no musical artist where hymns of the heavens oozed like ichor from her tongue, but her voice hummed quiet melodies that always eased them to sleep as a little child. they would not have anything else, but they'd love mother either way.
around her eyes were beautiful crinkles as the corners of her ruddy lips upturned into a weary smile. "we need a change in scenery. this old town isn't enough for artists like us."
she adored mother, but mother was mistaken. rocio, the artistic mother, was the only true artist with meticulous hands and a creative mind that framed an image of vivid murals. compared to rocio, they were only a teenager trifling with origami and scraps of colorful paper. and the biggest difference between their arts were the emotions conveyed.
compared to rocio, her daughter is a deficient painting composed of blemishes in bits and pieces that no one can truly piece together.
