- foolish -
Her father always wanted to live the life of a farmer. Even with his brilliant mind, dense and packed with the force to destroy empires, he wished for nothing more than normalcy amongst the waves of the Rebels and the Empire.
And it was, for a time. Their crops grew beneath fertile soil, toiled by her parent's hands. It was rich, full of life within the roots that snaked into the depths of the earth. She remembers warm evenings, under the stars, and her parent's laughing and dancing, their faces pressed close, smiles on their lips. There was love thumping in their veins, and there were no weights pressed heavily upon their shoulders.
But it was a foolish wish.
She misses them. Deep in her heart, there is a gaping thump that beats out of rhythm.
And she is selfish, she thinks, for wanting the same thing in this moment.
She imagines toiling the earth with her hands, turning soil, sweat on her brow. The callouses on her hands, the crease between her thumb and forefinger, would heal in favor of new ones on the pads of her fingers. There would be fresh herbs and warm tea, maybe, and it would be quiet, and peaceful.
The sky would be full of stars, and there would be a hand running fingers through her hair, a soft touch on her jaw. Dark eyes, watching her as she would dance in the moonlight. There would be so much time to waste, to learn, to smile, the feeling unknown to her now. Their fingers would thread together with an easiness that is surely left for the lucky.
She would have time to explore his body, and he hers. Learn the scars and marks lining his chest and arms, the feel of the stubble on his jaw against her cheek and thigh. There would be heaven between the sheets of their bed, warm and hidden from rebels and empires that wish to tear green sprigs from the earth. Her body would not ache, for family lost and muscles strained, and she would be pleasantly sated.
Freedom, she thinks, that is what the life of a farmer is. Calm, rising with the quiet dawn, moving with the earth.
Cassian threads his fingers with hers, his face close, lips warm against her cheek. It is damp, their tears silent. But he is here, in this moment, and she feels his warmth, wrapped around her.
It is a foolish wish. But not an unpleasant one.