We have waited more than her body could have resisted, only for the sunrise. Mornings on the beach are breathtaking, that's true. But the chilly breeze is unforgivable if you're dressed in a tiny top tank because you played pranks on me and don't have a hoodie anymore.
I gave her my T-shirt.
Topless, I fought the whips of the wind because, in truth, I was transfixed, turned into stone while looking at a medusa. My tears were frozen in a reservoir of ice, but I cradled her into my arms.
Her back glued to my chest to nurture the tiniest amount of warmth left to preserve. And the moment she got up her feet, it was taken away. I want to be fused with her. To climb up her soul and disappear.
"Come already," she feigns annoyance, and I can't help but laugh and follow her, resuming our initial position, this time standing up, my addiction to her waiting for me patiently, like a faithful dog.
"Not here, yet," I inhale the scent of her hair and hide my nose in it, "Always so impatient."
"No, no. This time I am right." she defends herself.
As I am about to contradict her, I swallow the remaining comments seeing that, in reality, she was right.
The sea itself is raw, dark blue, waves calm, tiptoeing the horizon with gentle splashes. But where the water ends, there is a vague tone of orange, so subtle and faded it could be missed. The more you look at it, the bigger it gets. Colors imprinted on the canvas as a glass of water spills over, spreading the tones in an organic manner.
Growing out of nothing, surfacing out of pure wish and dreams, as if it's pulled out of the ocean by the strings attached it to, the puppeteer too shy to show himself but too loving to hide it from us.
An immortal gift for the mortals.
Too many strings to be a coincidence and too few words to describe what I feel.
Strings and threads of fate untangle from the giant yarn ball of the cosmos to let us crochet what we see fit. My hands were too shaky to make sure there were no knots left behind or any holes missed, but yesterday, Faye decided to take the hooked needle in her hands and fasten the hoops.
Her eyes chase the tableau, occasionally glancing in my direction with a quizzical glimpse and smiling as if to include me – but I missed all of it, too entranced by her existence. It's her tale, not mine. It's all about her.
Always been. Always will.
And when the cadence of her breathing changes, getting further away from unconsciousness and joining my reality, that's when I know her patience is running out, along with her sympathy.
"You give zero fucks about the sunrise," she accuses me dissentingly.
I absentmindedly turn her around so she can face me, only to witness the sky sunning her. A film of shivers covers her skin, goosebumps erupting when the wind blows a little harder, her red eyes becoming itchy.
YOU ARE READING
Gold Dust || JJK
Fanfiction"I can't fucking breathe without you, Faye. You mean everything to me." Why does this sound better than I love you? It took me this long to realize that he was serious. Now that I look at him, I understand. The never-ending saga between us and the h...
50 - Seven
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