( some things, when they happen, you take as irreversible. he got shot in a desert, once. married, divorced. the last thing he said to his father was that he hoped he died alone. the difference between irreversible and unforgivable is what settles in the frost in the hush that follows.
(some things are a prophecy.)
his eyes are closed. still (always) listening for wolves. but the crack of the fire and the drum of her heart drowns out the outside world.
tomorrow, everything and nothing will be different.
he threads his fingers in her hair, knocking it askew from where she'd pulled it up. then, thumbing at the line of her jaw, he kisses her. it's soft. sweet. a gentle press of his mouth at the corner of hers, more a question than a statement. )
no subject
(some things are a prophecy.)
his eyes are closed. still (always) listening for wolves. but the crack of the fire and the drum of her heart drowns out the outside world.
tomorrow, everything and nothing will be different.
he threads his fingers in her hair, knocking it askew from where she'd pulled it up. then, thumbing at the line of her jaw, he kisses her. it's soft. sweet. a gentle press of his mouth at the corner of hers, more a question than a statement. )