Down, down

falls the needle,

tracing a long since forgotten path,

memorizing the rise and fall of her chest

that always felt so out of sync now.


Her eyes blink past the

nearly forgotten tears

that just wish to fall out of place

and into a new one.


It is not the needle

that's won over her emotions for the moment,

but rather past years of regret,

and the telltale sign of a broken heart.


Her hands tremble

when the needle is in her small grasp again,

and she wonders if her source of inspiration,

of motivation,

is just a means to break her heart even further.


Perched on a wall near the bed

in the tiny, shabby apartment room,

is a poster of the once superhero of Paris,

who was as full of confidence and puns

as he was with his kind heart.


Lying delicately on her work desk,

is the latest design of Gabriel Agreste,

as his son shown it off

in the best pose

that could be fabricated

to show off his green eyes

and model esque build

His hair slightly off kilter,

and her heart aching at the beautiful design, the beautiful boy,

and all that she had lost

that not even pictures can convey.


'So how's everything, Mari?'

'You look in a daze today.'

'Did you see the new Agreste design?'

'Did you see how absolutely awesome Ladybug was today?'


Her heart ached at the memory,

the memories that constantly fizzled at the surface,

and yet it only ached more

when her fist tightened up,

ignoring the needle,

and when she realized that Ladybug wasn't all that great

she had flaws, broke down, made mistakes,

and let the most incredible man in the whole world walk out.


Marinette leans closer to her design,

vaguely inspired off of the mood of the Agreste piece,

and wonders if there's a reason

beyond all reason

that the dimensions of it

are the perfect size to fit on Adrien's shoulders,

the size that she'd long since memorized

that was as clear to her as Alya's size or her own.


Her needle twirls lightly in her hand

as her mind loses its mark yet again,

and all that the woman, the young designer,

could see

was the loving green eyes

of that boy in love,

the purr whenever she rubbed his ears just right,

and the way the puns fell from his lips one by one

'Cat's got your tongue, eh?'

She wasn't even sure if that was his voice anymore.


"I'm going insane, aren't I?"

Her fingers tap on to the fabric,

tracing long forgotten lines

that she'd pricked herself more than once making.


She stands like a stone statue,

emotionally stagnant,

as Gabriel Agreste presses down on her design

just by staring at it,

and as a younger man peeks out from the corner of the room at her,

as if his eyes are squinted in thought.


She doesn't say anything,

not as she climbs the stage,

not as her friends and family look on,

and not as Gabriel Agreste's eyes judge her

Her heart gallops,

and she can't feel at peace,

not even as she takes the trophy,

silently,

and not as the crowd watches on.


She's long since convinced herself

that a part of her died that day,

the day that her Chaton walked out,

the day that she can't forget.


She's blurred the lines

between green and cat green,

between just blond and messy blond,

and she wonders why it doesn't come blurred

and freshly delivered at her door

like a much desired pizza.