25.3.11

distance...

      little pieces of sky leaked from her eyes, as the familiar sounds of buckles tightening and feet stomping into boots echoed through the room. memories of her wanderer's return came drifting in their wake, still so fresh that they might have been yesterday's gift, full of warm embraces and the familiar scars whose patterns she knew by heart. she forced as much of a smile as her lips could summon, watching those same scars disappear, hidden beneath leather and steel.
      "how long until sunrise?" she asked, her chest tightening each moment spent waiting for her wanderer's eyes, so focused on her satchel. soon, that carefree smile would steal her breath, the one that could melt the midwinter snow, as she felt her light frame grow heavy at the inevitable thought.
      "not long now," the traveler answered, smiling but not entirely, briefly meeting the pale morning skies with her own, the color of trees and earth. "listen," she continued, turning her attention to the barren window nearby, rising from her perch with the creaking of wood, "the fischer always sings shortly before the dawn, but stops when its rosy fingers slip over the horizon."
      familiar words tickled her ears, the same shared between them when an embrace could not do, words echoing from the first night they had ever shared. "so how long will you be this time, my mendicant?" she asked, as another piece of the sky fell from its home, to be gingerly caught by a calloused fingertip.
      "not so long," came the summer's breath, bringing a kiss to where the sky had fallen, "never so long to forget my promise."
      her frail arms thrust themselves around the traveler's back, holding her tight, trying desperately to feel those familiar patterns through the leather. tears came pouring through the sky in her eyes, drowning the frown buried in the folds of the traveler's cloak. kissing what skin she could, she soon found comfort in the softest of lips, and the taste of summer's breath behind them.
      after moments of silence passed into memory, she let her arms slip away, keeping her porcelain hands atop the traveler's breast. "please," she asked, her voice slowly forcing itself from a whisper, "take me with you again someday?"
      a gentle nod was her answer, as her wanderer pulled the verdant cloak over her head. "when times aren't so dangerous," the traveler added, as she felt the familiar roughness of calloused skin upon her cheek. "and then, we'll always travel together."
      outside, a faint trill of birdsong faded from hearing, until only the rustling of leaves carried a song upon the air.

No comments:

Post a Comment