Apr. 22nd, 2012

whatawaytoburn: ([DaS] Look up)
Note: Doesn't exactly match up with the prompt but well, that is why they are called prompts. Anyway, enjoy!



She doesn't talk to the dead, she can't hear their thoughts through the earth, can't speak to their bones. Sometimes she wishes she could, could hear their whispers around her, could know that they are following her in the night as she moves down the roads, but she can't.

Still, she finds herself at graveyards every now and then, fingers grazing over the statues and gravestones, wandering aimlessly. Some people think she's putting off visitng the grave of a certain someone. others shoo her off, tell her that this place isn't for people like her, people who look homeless and hungry. She doesn't blame them and she usually leaves when they tell her to.

But when she gets peace, when she's there at night or when she's alone, she likes walking through the paths that have been laid out for people, likes listening to the stones and their low, soft voices. She likes the comfort of knowing people have walked the roads she's on, likes feeling the presence of all the things that had ben there before she had.

It's soothing, it's heavy in her chest and comfortable against her feet. She can surround herself with it, not the voices of the dead, but the witnesses of the living, the rock and the paths and the trees and plants that have been left behind by loved ones. She can listen to their whispers and their humming. She can hear the rustle of the plants against the breeze, the soft songs of the statues as they sing for the dead that are buried beneath them.

She likes this, likes feeling like she's found somewhere she can nest in for a while, likes knowing that they won't overwhelm her, won't take her over and tear her apart and leave her ragged and worn.

She knows that the fae stay away from graveyards too, at least most of them. She knows they won't find her here, only ghosts, only the dead and if the dead find her, she will welcome them with a bright smile and open arms.
whatawaytoburn: ([Words] Won't sleep for days)
Wow, occasionally we are really dense.

W9illiam and I are talking about how sleep should happen soon, as stuff needs to get done tomorrow and we both know that I don't sleep well and it's a crapshoot if he can sleep well or not.

And then Bo wanders by.

Bo, who is an angel who specializes in beds/sleep/dreams/you get the gist.

She's been around for years

Yeah, we both just kind of facepalmed so, so hard.
whatawaytoburn: ([Words] Anything get done)
Oh thank everything, I have an empty house. *dances*

This means I might actually get some readings d9ne today and, if I am lucky, get some writing as well.

I have a large cup of coffee, music and I smell lovely. This is, at the very least, progress in that direction. I just need to get started. Mrah. My stomach is slightly angry, so that is not helping. I am waiting for it to chill out a little before I start doing things, as it makes it hard to concentrate on anything when it's twirling itself into knots.

There is still a part of me that wants to curl up in bed, I have to admit but I am trying very hard not to. At oleast the caffeine kicked in, that's helpful.
whatawaytoburn: ([Sanctuary] Helen smiles)
Hope and Love are sisters.

Love creeps in through windows and under the doors. She slides through the cracks in the walls and fills you up with herself. She nests in your chest, makes your heart race, makes your pulse rush. She's heady and dizzying and she makes you do crazy things.

Hope is quieter, she's always been that way though. She slides in after her sister, settling in a corner and waiting for Love to sink in, to straddle your lap and kiss you hard against the mouth. Then she comes up behind you, covers your eyes and whispers in your ear. She tells you all the things you didn't know before, all the dreams and desires you didn't realize you had. She wraps around you, not seeping into your pores but draping around you like a blanket.

And yes, she is shyer than Love because she will never kiss you on the mouth, she will never take your hand and dance with you but she'll sleep with you at night and tell you that you're worth it, tell you that Love is here to stay and that she'll be here too.

Love and Hope don't always go hand in hand, but when they do, they're almost inseparable.

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Screaming loud enough to turn back the wind.

August 2012

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