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31_days2012-08-05 10:37 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-08-05 10:37 pm
5 August - Original - 60 Seconds
Title: 60 Seconds
Day/Theme: 5 August – “that measure of madness that moves life.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Was it the strands of hair that pulled so smoothly through her fingers, or wrapped around another’s with an almost obsessive quality, or that moment stock still surrounded by white fog that kissed her every sense – if this was the way to go under she would drive her fingers under the muscle and bone to stroke the very nerves and blood vessels to find the beat and pulse of her heart.
Or was it his heart that was under her fingers?
She never quite figured where she ended or where he begun, the thoughts and their bodies melded so perfectly together that in symbiosis; they were one and the same, down to the very last breath on the axis.
Would they splinter apart, fracture and break? as if the weight of everything had torn it all to shreds and all that had been was no longer - if things were no longer on the keel, or if he stepped out of her eyeline?
She didn’t know.
The scratch on the bones under her skin, told her it was time to wake up - to wake up now or forever walk down the garden path of which she could never escape from, to be thrown against the opposition that this form of catharsis from such fleeting wonderment would only stay until she batted it away with her fingertips.
Sometimes, in her quietest thoughts it was the most beautiful notion she could ever be possessed of.
Day/Theme: 5 August – “that measure of madness that moves life.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Was it the strands of hair that pulled so smoothly through her fingers, or wrapped around another’s with an almost obsessive quality, or that moment stock still surrounded by white fog that kissed her every sense – if this was the way to go under she would drive her fingers under the muscle and bone to stroke the very nerves and blood vessels to find the beat and pulse of her heart.
Or was it his heart that was under her fingers?
She never quite figured where she ended or where he begun, the thoughts and their bodies melded so perfectly together that in symbiosis; they were one and the same, down to the very last breath on the axis.
Would they splinter apart, fracture and break? as if the weight of everything had torn it all to shreds and all that had been was no longer - if things were no longer on the keel, or if he stepped out of her eyeline?
She didn’t know.
The scratch on the bones under her skin, told her it was time to wake up - to wake up now or forever walk down the garden path of which she could never escape from, to be thrown against the opposition that this form of catharsis from such fleeting wonderment would only stay until she batted it away with her fingertips.
Sometimes, in her quietest thoughts it was the most beautiful notion she could ever be possessed of.