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31_days2012-07-23 11:23 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-23 11:23 pm
23 July - Original - To Preside Where Ghosts once Sat.
Title: To Preside Where Ghosts once Sat.
Day/Theme: July 23 – “I awoke to an empty chair.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes, to make a decision she relied wholly on her directives
She remembered the last time he was seated in her chair, his arms splayed down the rests, and fingers caressing the materials rise and fall, leaning backwards so far that he could stretch his spine with ease, only to lower the legs downwards again.
The conversations were ricocheting in head without pause for breath, one statement after the next.. her love for him outweighing his for her’s – her denial and anger at his supplication that it was all real, as real as fingers touching her brow, kissing her cheeks, whispering devotions against her mouth and ears.
He would talk of the highs and lows and the gaps between now and then, but she didn’t understand him then, she couldn’t understand how this love could be boxed in such simple terms, couldn’t forgive herself for the utmost disregards she placed upon him, so she could save herself in the process.
How could she move past the lump in her throat named so by her – that first flotsam of love, she didn’t want this to be all that was left of them, she wanted the growth, wholeness and soft quietness.
She wanted to learn, wanted to sacrifice her ego if it meant that he would fill the spaces left behind, in her darkest hours’, she wanted him to reach inside and separate her bone from cartilage, and find her heart and hold it in his hand, beating and breathing with every exhalation.
With that, she turned and left the room.
Day/Theme: July 23 – “I awoke to an empty chair.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes, to make a decision she relied wholly on her directives
She remembered the last time he was seated in her chair, his arms splayed down the rests, and fingers caressing the materials rise and fall, leaning backwards so far that he could stretch his spine with ease, only to lower the legs downwards again.
The conversations were ricocheting in head without pause for breath, one statement after the next.. her love for him outweighing his for her’s – her denial and anger at his supplication that it was all real, as real as fingers touching her brow, kissing her cheeks, whispering devotions against her mouth and ears.
He would talk of the highs and lows and the gaps between now and then, but she didn’t understand him then, she couldn’t understand how this love could be boxed in such simple terms, couldn’t forgive herself for the utmost disregards she placed upon him, so she could save herself in the process.
How could she move past the lump in her throat named so by her – that first flotsam of love, she didn’t want this to be all that was left of them, she wanted the growth, wholeness and soft quietness.
She wanted to learn, wanted to sacrifice her ego if it meant that he would fill the spaces left behind, in her darkest hours’, she wanted him to reach inside and separate her bone from cartilage, and find her heart and hold it in his hand, beating and breathing with every exhalation.
With that, she turned and left the room.