01 | amalthea

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a m a l t h e a

he worries his bottom lip as his steady-artist hand sketches mindless stars, comets, asteroids, planets, supernovas, black holes.

i pause from sipping my tea and watch as he does so, my gaze lingering on the boy with the golden heart, frigid hands and sky-blue eyes as he maps out the universe caught in his mind the flimsy pages of his sketchbook.

i watch as he runs a hand over his neck before he sighs in frustration and stands up, a brewing storm trapped inside his body.

and i watch from afar as he shoves the journal into his bag and slings it over his shoulder.

i watch as the golden boy left the diner by the seaside with the universe trapped in his eyes.

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