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the lake will overflow ( flood all i’ve ever known ) → aerith & amaterasu for @gospelia.
beneath the fragile spinework of wood, under the pillars and above the floorboards does she rest. it is strange that she take such peace from a chapel of memories. without regret and without doubt the white wolf is a bundle of fur against the pews.
she rarely dreams you see.
There are days when she forgets that kindness manifests itself and rests upon the green carpet, of a sanctuary she had claimed as “home” for nearly all her life. That a heart of gold may spin itself into more than a ball of light in the sky; a white-cast dichotomy of flurry and paint, of divine intervention and trusted faith. She would no longer restrain herself from the immediate reaction of sight against white —— perfection before her, curled up to rest under the heaviness and warmth of the air here. Such beauty unraveled! Poetry, purest; majesty defined. ( how do you manage to taste such sorrow and never falter? ) “Bunking here again, I see.” She crawls to nestle, tracing a finger down her snout —— for all their complexities, they were flame and spring.
There were many things Aerith wanted to say, yet she was kept by her silence; to sit by a fire so warm it marked her with regret. There were many revelations spun from the myriad of indigo dreams she had acquired from her travels — but the sun didn't deserve such darkness; the sun did not require such sorrow.
many things could not drown out the hum of crickets in the night. her fur grew illuminate against the crackle and spit of wild embers that lay before them both, it came to be that this little sanctuary was their home for the evening. despite no horrors lurking behind eerie mists she felt a tug of concern. a song of sorrow that filled the night and paid homage to the moon. her dreams were memories made mirages, but she did not know what aerith’s dreams were woven by ( an eternal river’s flow, a single set of pale eyes. )
stars scattered and softness remained.
the great goddess speaks yet it is only for her. it is only for the maiden dashes in white flowers who curls up till her knees are submerged. the goddess spoke in her slumber while her muscles stirred.
do not be afraid to let your heart tremble.
… before the world began, there was her. and yet, she came after: from it; of it. essence of a mother for the unwanted; divine fury, a forbidden kiss.
she is the cord to the cosmos; a wish unsent — the infinite resolution of a thousand stars meeting to bless away the dew upon your brow. she is the question you propose after a long day’s work; the sway in your step; a waking scratch upon your timid body. you are irresolute before her — a fraction of her kindness unbound and formed, whose touch will shape the minds of those around them and never forgotten. she will remind you that your tears are the ocean, and you must filter your heart to emotions befitting a drop, not an accidental spill. she will show you there is nothing but grace in you, and you must recognize this light before the stars in you are eaten by unwarranted, vampiric souls. reminders of embracing darkness will send you flustering and reeling and they will catch your attention — they will tempt you and scorch you alive, until the wounds of your open heart are closed by the very chasm you sweetly accept. but — her fateful gaze will remind you that while it is easy and undoubtedly beautiful to revel in this questionable glory: do not dwell. do not dwell insomuch you would forget your own grace, your own becoming. she is a blazing star — a flower in the infinite, a hurried malevolence of what remained of gods before they set out to destroy. and before you formed your world, there was her.
Nikita Gill, A Girl Filled with Starlight (via meanwhilepoetry)
i. ❛ … It was rather beautiful: the way he put her insecurities to sleep. The way he dove into her eyes and starved all the fears and tasted all the dreams she kept coiled beneath her bones. ❜ ii. ❛ … I could tell the universe loved her, too. More than others. She was different. After all; I would be a fool not to notice the way the sunshine played with her hair. ❜ iii. ❛ … She stared at the stars like they were pillow for her mind and in their light she could rest her heavy head. ❜
iv. ❛ … She lived with hurricane eyes and fell in love with the way the waves collapsed against her cheeks. ❜
v. ❛ … She was strange and beautiful and those were human qualities that I had never seen Weaved together before. She became terrifying to me, not because I feared who she was, but for the sake of love, I feared what she could do to me. ❜
—— ✎ christopher poindexter.
