She turns her eye inwards, if only for a moment.
Ashes and dust. Dust and ashes. That's all she sees.
She can almost taste them, too. In the back of her throat.
They taste of regret and words unsaid. He doesn't know this, and he probably never will, but there are embers still burning under her deceptively placid layer of ashes and dust. Dust and ashes.
And if you look hard enough, you see they're still alive, with a quiet, muted glow. They're still waiting, it seems. No matter how much she wants them to stop, to just fade away, they refuse to. They're waiting for him to breathe life into them, so they can glow that much brighter. Ember to flame. Flame to inferno.
Ashes and dust. Dust and ashes. That's all she sees.
She can almost taste them, too. In the back of her throat.
They taste of regret and words unsaid. He doesn't know this, and he probably never will, but there are embers still burning under her deceptively placid layer of ashes and dust. Dust and ashes.
And if you look hard enough, you see they're still alive, with a quiet, muted glow. They're still waiting, it seems. No matter how much she wants them to stop, to just fade away, they refuse to. They're waiting for him to breathe life into them, so they can glow that much brighter. Ember to flame. Flame to inferno.
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