Tenten liked the sunset.
It would descend into the east, hiding from mother nature it seemed, with its last few brilliant wisps of scarlet, citrus orange and soft pink churning into a plentiful dark-black.
She liked how the stars would shine onto her battered and worn body, surrounding her in a soft glow that seemed only euphoric to her.
She liked how the trees swayed lightly in the night breeze, the fresh smell of pine that could be detected only at such a hour.
She liked the sound of crickets, the glow of the fireflies, and the twinkle of the stars.
When the night wasn't enough, she liked how the flower would bloom for her. When there weren't enough stars to keep her company, she would be there instead, by her side, in tranquil harmony, healing her own internal wounds. When the crickets held no life in their musical chords, her quiet laughter would supply the need.
They talked through touching. A rough skimmed palm fitting unevenly against the delicate one, the larger thumb tracing the contours of that fragile hand. The girl's irises would catch her own and flicker, with a sort of recognition, to signal the continuation.
Sometimes she found the girl's head in her lap, eyes dim and glazed, lips soundlessly moving. Sometimes she found her own way to her lap, where the girl would touch the features of her face- slyly tracing the upper bridge of her nose, the circles under her eyes, the point of her chin. She would deftly pass over her cracked lips but come back later and aimlessly trace the contortions of that flesh.
Tenten would smile.
It was their fantasy within a fantasy. A correlation of want and need combining, twisting into a matter that could never be had.
And when the darkness would break and light flew in steady streams to re-paint the desolate world, the girl would raise her head and smile softly toward the west.
Evergreen and brilliant mahogany
Coral-pink and sepia.
The sun was rising and the world was an open canvas just waiting to be filled.