morning dew;
soft slivers of early morning sunlight caressed the fresh pearls of dew dotting across every leaf on every tree for miles. up close, the innocent pearls weighed the leaves down, causing them to droop and resist the sway of a summer's breeze. the dip in the leaf would cause the dew to slowly glide down the ridged curve of the leaf until it dropped, ever so quietly, bathed in the light of the sun, and with the faintest of sounds collided against the bark of the branch. from afar, the trees looked as if they were glowing, every insignificant little pearl and all their insignificant silence would merge together and create a blanket of glittering stars across the treetops. its life was short, peaking just as the sun rose across the canopy while the sky still bore hues of blue and purple, when the restless bustle of konoha was reduced to nothing more than early birds and morning worms.
during those breathless hours, beams of light streamed through her window, the translucent rays whispering past the curtains, dotting faintly across the wooden floor, and tip-toeing through the crack in their door to finally rest their gentle glow across the contours of her face. the light balanced the shade in her collarbones, brushed the soft lines of her chin, pooled into the subtle dip above her lip, and traced along the height of her cheekbones. it was then, when the warmth of light tickled the tips of her eyelashes, filtering through each strand, making overlapping and uneven stripes in the shadows of her eyes that she opened them.
he'd still be lost in his silence, his eyes closed tight enough to cause a wrinkle between his brows, but even then the morning sun would travel along the thin crevasse and down the slope of his nose until it centered right on the edge, like a bead of dew hanging on the tip of a leaf, seconds away from its descent. the images that he envisioned behind his closed eyes were repetitive, but never familiar. phantoms had plagued his silence since he was a child, hiding in the heat of his sunsets, the lustre of his sunrises, and every space in between. the composition of them, however, was different every time. at times he'd only see red; fierce swirls of crimson erupting into the sky like clouds of smoke, or a chaotic, vicious splatter of maroon dripping unevenly against the canvas of his tomorrows. other times he'd see blue; an endless navy that drowned his senses and trapped them beneath its surface as bubbles. it made his muscles stiffen, his breathing strained, and impossible for the morning light to relieve him.
she'd turn from her back to her side and her hair would cascade into her face; strands getting caught between eyelashes, looping over her nose and around her ear, pink ends sticking to the moistness of her lips, hair in such disarray that when she looked at him he was in shades of pale pinks and silver morning breezes. she'd smile, her lip catching between her teeth and the light she'd turned her back to illuminated her outline so that every space it filtered through, be it rolling over the curve of her neck or tunneling through the small gap between her waist and the mattress, it touched him in the places where his phantoms hid. it outlined his eyes, grazed the seam of his lips, traced the veins on his forearm, made glittering crescents in the bed of his nails, and warmed his chest where three buttons were left undone. it accepted the crimsons and maroons, explored the navys and turquoises, understood the violets and magentas, and made rainbows out of his scars that exploded like fireworks against a canvas of shadows. his silence finally had sound and ever so slowly would his muscles relax, his breathing even, and his eyes open to greet the new day.
his gaze would catch hers for a secret moment; his half-lidded and searching, hers wide open and waiting, the corner of his mouth would twitch and pearls of light would dance between the part in his lips. her nose would then crinkle and her eyes would flicker away in a precious flutter of bashful and secret teases. he'd divert his eyes seconds after she would, focusing on her fingers that rested comfortably in her upright palm and wonder about possibilities while she'd peek at him through her tousled curtain of hair and daydream about fantasies.
then they'd both sit up in the same motion, unplanned and imperfect, waiting and wanting, dreaming and hoping and meeting in the middle with the slightest of touches. her palm had pressed flat on the mattress to help haul herself upright and seconds too soon he'd done the same, his fingers toppling over hers in the most ungraceful of ways, an index beneath a pinky, a middle over a ring, a thumb on a knuckle and a fleeting glint in their eyes. and in this insignificant moment, during their insignificant touch, where the morning light quietly peeked through the cracks between their tangled fingers, their colors blended seamlessly into a horizon of momentary chances, brighter than their todays and illuminating the skies of their tomorrows like stars hovering across treetops.
and just as it was there, it was gone. their hands were back to themselves and the wrinkles in their sheets were straightened as the people of konoha began to raise their voices, louder and louder until those small moments were forgotten before they were acknowledged.
the next day, the dew would return in all its irrelevant perfection, encouraged by the warmth of the morning sun to exist in all its slow paces and in all its quiet beauty. the pearls of morning dew would once again glide over ridges and swim between cracks until they hung suspended on the edge of their world. and it is in those insignificant hours, within those insignificant moments, in all its insignificant existence, that it would fall into a sea of stars.