Gold.
She loves.
She has always loved him.
His eyes are gold, sparkling in the bright summer sun.
She watches him, always. Never declines an opportunity to watch. He loves passionately, so unlike her. So, she watches him.
There is little else she can do. The way the lines and invisible curves in his eyes sway and bend every time he smiles is intoxicating; more effective than any drug, it keeps her spellbound and always wanting more. She loves it when he smiles, because he rarely smiles anymore.
She loves the sound of his voice. It is as flaxen as his eyes, his hair. Without hesitation, she can say that this is the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with. He's just perfect, in every manner possible. Selfless, caring, sensitive, light-hearted, perfect. But she is just twelve, and so is he. She can wait for the years to pass by, she can wait for him to realize the same. She wishes she were perfect enough for him.
The only thing she can do is to make him to smile. That is why she tries.
aurumphilia: love of gold
The years do fly by. Too quickly, in fact. He rarely comes home anymore; the house is too quiet without him and his brother. Her grandmother is dear to her, her dog is dear to her, his brother is dear to her, but he matters the most of all. She continues working, looking out of the window each evening, waiting to see if he will be her next customer. It's a fanciful hope, but one she clings to nonetheless.
There's little that she can do for him now. She misses him, his laugh, his golden eyes and hair and heart. She wants to see him again, laughing with her, their hands interlaced and smiles open for the other to see. She wants to see him happy again, with her.
The next customer knocks on her door, and she doesn't keep him waiting. As she smiles at him and says comforting words, she cannot stop thinking to warm summer evenings, and setting suns and sweetness-bearing breezes, of a dog barking in the distance, and the two of them in the darkening sky, soaring together. Laughing. Happy. Together.
She has tears in her eyes and wipes them away before anyone can see.
edwardphilia: love of edward
The world is clear below her; no petty things like logic distort her view. Fields fold out below her, forests and desert rising up from formless ground. Cities unpack themselves and thick, acidic smoke drifts to her eyes, making them sting. She towers over mountains, the giants that she long thought unconquerable. She blinks the tears away and looks to the side. She thinks of him, and he is there, holding her hand and encouraging her onwards. Always forwards.
"The past is past," he laughs. "The present is now."
The sun is ahead, distant but omnipresent. She blinds herself momentarily when she turns to stare at the glow she is moving towards. She races towards the sun, turning her face fully to the brilliant sun, and feels herself speeding up, faster, faster, faster. She closes her eyes when the light becomes too much to bear, and can feel the heat embracing her, feels the feathery touches of his voice along her arms-
(here, she does not know what happens next, because all she can remember is an intense heat. and intense heat and a pair of strong arms around her, protecting her. she hears voices, and laughter, and everything is all right, everything is just the way it should be, here, in the sun...)
She does not know when the dream ends but at some point during the night, she wakes. A dream it may have been, but her skin is warm and she tosses the blankets away. Her feet take her to the window, where she steps out onto the balcony. The cold night air shocks her, but she doesn't care and doesn't move. All she does is watch the moon dancing across the velvet sky, swimming with the hazy middle-of-night clouds. The stars twinkle in mirth, and silently applaud the graceful moon.
She envies the stars, because they have their beloved moon right there, though they may not touch her. She envies the silver moon because she has the stars all around her to comfort her. The moon is a strong, beautiful maiden and she is adored by the million stars.
The horizon is empty. There are no two figures walking back, or even limping, towards home. There is no metal giant trudging wearily back home after battle, no midget beside him to laugh and talk his mouth off and joke around. The wind does not bring her any familiar sounds except for the cheeky breezes racing past the trees' branches.
The night is surprisingly lonely. She doesn't know how she's never noticed it before.
It is silent in the night, and she waits until dawn (until the sun, magnificent and all-encompassing sun, rises from his slumber and sends the moon away, chases the little twinkling stars below the earth for the day, and illuminates the clouds with his fiery passion). She waits for two people who will not be returning. Not now, not yet. The thought hurts.
She thinks of Edward, and wants him to come home.