GUNS and POETRY

echoes

00 | echoes

The lights are hauntingly beautiful.

He stares at them, unable to tear his eyes away from the glittering luminescence. The little droplets seem to float in the air, distilling as they cascade down the stairs. The candles flicker near the edges, dangerously close to human contact, and he briefly wonders if it is prudent to place them there at all. But for all he knows, they may be just an illusion- safe and magical in their effect.

The sound of people around him ebb and flow as he waits patiently. He's not a patient man, but today time becomes vital in its essence. So he shifts to admiring the view instead, just to keep his mind occupied. Something big was going to happen tonight; he could feel it in the way the lights glittered on the lush whiteness of the floor. So white, like a mirror, a coffin made of marble.

The number of people does not disappoint. He sighs, rocking back on his heels so as to not appear impatient. The thought of leaving without anyone noticing does seem tempting, but he has made promises he must keep. Simply because he wants to.

With each passing moment seeming to drag out longer inside his head than the last, his occasional sigh turns into a tapping of his right foot. He looks around to notice people around him and stubbornly, he presses down on his foot, avoiding their gazes and looking up just in time to see the flash of red at the top.

She walks down slowly, in a dress that resembles the liquid pooling inside his heart. It doesn't help that the color stood out amidst the glittering amber like a flag, but it is all he can do to blink. She descends the last few steps and stands in front of him, her gaze ending a bare inch below his before she offers him a small smile.

Hesitant. Wilful.

It moves something inside him, much like water, much like blood, and without a second's hesitation, he feels his anxiety dissipate, a smile smoothing out the lines on his face.

When he offers his hand, she takes it immediately.

He leads her away to the direction of people, blending in with the dancers only in time to hear her chuckle at his ear.

"What?"

She smiles again, although it is reminiscent now. "How far are you going with this?"

He returns her humor. "Just beautiful enough to make them believe it's all real," he says, placing a delicate hand on her waist.

"Beautiful but annihilating.

"Is it not?"

His heart thuds at the nonchalance she assumes. His grip on her hand tightens momentarily and he finds himself leaning in closer to her, close enough to breathe in the scent of roses, for his heart to erupt into a thousand storms.

"You know it is." Can she taste the truth in his despair? In him? Can she tell the pain that grips him almost with an edge of fear every time he lets his mind waver and every time it roundabouts to another possible disaster?

He swallows, blinking as if to erase the vision of red that overcomes him. Without his conscious effort, his fingers lift to trace the planes of her face - lightly, almost too lightly, the flame afraid to turn the butterfly into cinders, and he inhales, pulling the smoke into his lungs.

"You know it is," he repeats, voice steadier this time. A boat harboring at the edge of a vast ocean, too weak to pass through and yet at its homeland. "I promised to keep you safe. You know I'll do anything to keep that promise."

He holds her face between his, tracing the slope of her cheekbones with the inside of his thumb. "I just need you to be here." He inhales shakily, pressing his forehead to hers. "If you're with me, I can survive anything."

~