Prompt: I would
like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the
one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of
your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to
follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat
that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped
hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as
easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that
inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that
unnoticed
& that necessary.
Margaret Atwood, Variations on the Word Sleep
-
Holding the blue flames in his hand, Sirius sat curled up on the bed, watching the sleeping form beside him, trying to take in everything before he would have to leave. He kept the flame away from Remus' face, fearful to wake him and be noticed. He wouldn't be able to take the golden-brown eyes filled with concern, the fall of sun bleached brown hair across his forehead. It would only kill him and he would spill everything.
He shifted quietly on the mattress and gazed at the sleeping form, the light dusting of hair on the thin chest, the long legs beneath the blanket, and the curled hands. Sirius sighed softly and closed his hands around the flame. The sun had begun to stain the sky, bringing life to the dead leaves still hanging on the trees and he had to go.