The Strays

Z i o n

"The present is my pain, my future is nothing but a dismal place, so I taste the past, addicted to its release. I cave to my vices in the arms of her. But she will never amount to anything more; ever again."

- Zion Lockwood;

A girl laid in the arms of Zion- don't mistake it for the girl Kie saw; no, this is another. But I urge, once again, to not mistake it for a new girl- no, this is history; history on repeat. History going in circles. History which is never left at that- it'll never be the past, nor will it be the present and certainly not the future-

This is now. Only now. Never beyond. Nevermore.

They laid in a green grass field, which overlooked their small, small town.

Their supposed home.

The sun sat high and proud above them.

Zion's eyes were vacant, distant. Hers, they stared longingly up at the boy she could never truly let go. While he was distracted, she was comforted. While he was at war with himself, she was finally at peace.

It's difficult you know, two broken souls in love; or perhaps once upon a time, in love. Or perhaps, once again, one fell and never really got up, and another fell and swore to never, ever, fall again. One hit the ground and found a body, a voice, a heart, another found safety and solace. When you lose a person your heart breaks, but when you find something which was stripped away, only for it to vanish, once again, it is you who breaks.

One returns for them. Another returns to grasp onto the past- the innocence and ignorance.

Her hand stroked Zion's.

"Zion, what's wrong?" The softness of her voice got lost in the abyss, where he seemed to be astray. "Zion?"-

But just like that, it found him.

His eyes averted from the scenery- the town- to her- the past.

"Hm?"

Her eyes studied him. He stared back, blankly

His hand ran from the top of her forehead, dipping to the small of her back, and through her shiny black hair. His lips gently pressed against her cheek, to which he whispered-

"I'm fine," against her blushing skin.

"Zi-" Before she could protest. Before she could care. Before it all came too much. He kissed her; he hadn't kissed anyone in a while.

Actions of benevolence exceed that of words.

For Zion, actions are all that is needed in this world. Words are accumulated to touch the soul, he believed. Words are lies, bought as if they were going out of stock-

It is the words of a lover that'll break you in the end. The words of a father that'll leave you innocently shattered, only for it to turn to anger, and then rage.

Now you may say, the act of leaving is what really breaks you- the act of violence, the act of love. But you don't leave without a reason, a reason, occasionally summed up by words- in his case so. Violence is discussed, with words, behind closed doors, before being being unleashed. And love. Well, you fall in love with their thoughts and their words-

But it is the actions that shows you the extremity, the passion, the truth.

Words are dangerous, as are actions.

Words are deceitful, as are actions.

But actions are honest, words are a mask.

Actions are courageous, words are cowardly.

Actions are all that is needed in this world, for Zion.

Their lips parted, and their heavy breaths mangled into one. Had it been so long, or perhaps too long? Did the taste of each other become foreign or did they fall into a blanket of familiarity?

Neither spoke. Neither opened their eyes.

But here's the spoken truth, and perhaps unknown-

One tasted the memories and what used to be.

Another-

Another tasted pain; no more, no less.

At that moment, as the sun shone down, Zion's brown skin glowed golden and her olive skin tanned. At that moment, they were angels and they were beautiful-

Her head took its place on his heaving chest. Zion's arms lingered in the air momentarily, before slowly and softly, wrapping around her body-

They were angels wondering if home still remained in the arms of each other.