Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
She nods, finally relenting. ”I really can’t argue that,” she says with a grin. It is true, she is a very nice Halovian girl. Born and bred to survive in the icy, hard Tundra with a hard, but far less icy, people.
He speaks of their different lives, his and Sam’s, and she nods again, remembering that particular protest when Loren had first mentioned the bookstore owner. ”Sometimes things only need to be fun for a time,” she says. Though sometimes there is a hope for more, and she can understand that as well. There is something to be said for connection, after all, which comes with time together. Hadn’t she said as much to Loren, the first time they met?
Her grins grows, something lurking within it. ”Perhaps I just want more scones,” she says, waving the little that is left of her current one toward him. ”Or perhaps I have grown used to you.” Her grin turns sly, and she leans slightly closer to him, voice just a bit lower. ”Perhaps I am just not sorry that you are free to kiss.” She has not forgotten their first meeting, after all. How she’d asked if there’d be more. How he’d said he’d hoped so. Perhaps it had been the booze talking, perhaps not.
The topic changes to drinking, and though perhaps they will not drink as they had the first night, she doesn’t mind that. Getting drunk is rarely the goal. ”Well now we have rather good booze to drink. I am not too bad as a bartender, if I do say so myself.” The right mix of alcohols, a little added flavor, and you had something nearly as good as chocolate. She watches as his eyes drift toward a pot, and she nods at it, half a question in her eyes.
”I am not,” she says, not saying it in a way that is meant to brag, but simply to confirm his point. ”That is perhaps the only thing where I do. It is one thing to be afraid for myself and to ignore it. It is another to affect little lives that have no say.” Though still, she has never hated the idea of having her own family. It has always been a possible future, though not a certain one. Then again, very little ever felt certain.
He speaks of their different lives, his and Sam’s, and she nods again, remembering that particular protest when Loren had first mentioned the bookstore owner. ”Sometimes things only need to be fun for a time,” she says. Though sometimes there is a hope for more, and she can understand that as well. There is something to be said for connection, after all, which comes with time together. Hadn’t she said as much to Loren, the first time they met?
Her grins grows, something lurking within it. ”Perhaps I just want more scones,” she says, waving the little that is left of her current one toward him. ”Or perhaps I have grown used to you.” Her grin turns sly, and she leans slightly closer to him, voice just a bit lower. ”Perhaps I am just not sorry that you are free to kiss.” She has not forgotten their first meeting, after all. How she’d asked if there’d be more. How he’d said he’d hoped so. Perhaps it had been the booze talking, perhaps not.
The topic changes to drinking, and though perhaps they will not drink as they had the first night, she doesn’t mind that. Getting drunk is rarely the goal. ”Well now we have rather good booze to drink. I am not too bad as a bartender, if I do say so myself.” The right mix of alcohols, a little added flavor, and you had something nearly as good as chocolate. She watches as his eyes drift toward a pot, and she nods at it, half a question in her eyes.
”I am not,” she says, not saying it in a way that is meant to brag, but simply to confirm his point. ”That is perhaps the only thing where I do. It is one thing to be afraid for myself and to ignore it. It is another to affect little lives that have no say.” Though still, she has never hated the idea of having her own family. It has always been a possible future, though not a certain one. Then again, very little ever felt certain.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
