[It does feel safe like this, being held so close. Truly good and safe. It's a pull, almost magnetic, warm and inviting, that draws her in. Maybe it's just another force to contend with, just another confusion to add to the mess of emotions continuing to wage a war inside of her, but at the very least, the lump in her throat dissipates enough to allow her to exhale.
Relief washes through her in response to the change in subject. Her eyes close, partially as a result of that, and partially as a result of wanting to ensure she sees nothing. If his paintings had been anything to go by, she's better off not knowing what was inside that sketchbook. Especially not now, not when so much is still so fresh. Not when volatility could still tip a delicate balance of superficial ease in any direction; not when she's still an effective time bomb.
Tick, tock.
"Home" is a word that's still charged, one that has the potential to set her off without much warning, when the concept of it is gone and that inexistence is a ghost that haunts her ceaselessly. But it's a charge that dies before it sparks, lost in the oblivion of her own personal battle. She knows what he means; it's an expression of a thought that's crossed her mind more than several times in all these months. How, at its core, a lot of it isn't much different. Different game, different players, but, in fact, still a game...--
Still quietly, though with more volume than before:]
no subject
Relief washes through her in response to the change in subject. Her eyes close, partially as a result of that, and partially as a result of wanting to ensure she sees nothing. If his paintings had been anything to go by, she's better off not knowing what was inside that sketchbook. Especially not now, not when so much is still so fresh. Not when volatility could still tip a delicate balance of superficial ease in any direction; not when she's still an effective time bomb.
Tick, tock.
"Home" is a word that's still charged, one that has the potential to set her off without much warning, when the concept of it is gone and that inexistence is a ghost that haunts her ceaselessly. But it's a charge that dies before it sparks, lost in the oblivion of her own personal battle. She knows what he means; it's an expression of a thought that's crossed her mind more than several times in all these months. How, at its core, a lot of it isn't much different. Different game, different players, but, in fact, still a game...--
Still quietly, though with more volume than before:]
Sometimes.