Written for those days where your home seems too small, but the world too vast, and all you can hope for is the comfort of familiar arms. But the hours pass too slowly, and the shadows press like knives against the heart…
…a tree had grown overnight, it’s leaves the color of bruised lips and ink stains, and below it’s boughs he waited. Sable skinned and singing soft songs with a voice like October.
If you’re one of the ones who grew up loving Narnia, then there is always a small part of you looking for the light in Lantern Waste, peeking into coat-filled wardrobes, and studying paintings of old ships. And there’s always that odd feeling of being slightly displaced, for you touched another world, let it sink it’s claws into you- and now you’re never truly home.
Loneliness makes tracks through our souls like feet on virgin snow, hollowed and soft and shadowed…
She was scared to dance, afraid to feel that familiar slam of bone against the hollow stage. Something had changed that night, something inside of her had stilled at the sight of those bodies, that blood. It had been such a long time- years really, but still, the fear weighed her down, and a cold had settled in her bones.
Once though, she had soared. A child, free, alone on the stage for hours, practicing for her own perfection. The one place she felt whole, the one place she felt like herself. Not a strange amalgamation of those things that her parents wanted, her teachers, her friends. Not a list of labels bestowed upon her by society. Nothing mattered except the rhythm; ever leap, ever spin, her world spiraling in an orbit that swung the planets around her, brought the world into line with her dreams, her desires.
Now the music called again, pulling her into the theater from across campus. The steady beat of others’ seeking order in the chaos, in lines and practiced rhythm across a hollow stage.