Today is another of the grey days. The slow ones. The ones with a lot of background noise and summer rain. With a kind of warm embrace, yet almost suffocating.
The sky is full of smoke from burnt dreams and tomorrows that will never be. There are ashes in her eyes and a burning sun-star in the place of her heart. She looks serene, but her reflection reveals the sorrow curved scars and the ghosts that haunt her fragile figure. Her frozen breath leaves a cloud over the mirror. She can feel the earth move, she can feel the sharp edges of the world and the desperation of the sun. She can feel a disarray of sunrays slashing her skin; and that ever-consuming, ever-burning and so deeply embedded inside of her, that incessant yearning for another’s embrace.
At sunset the sky is bleeding. Orange and red streams flow towards the west leaving behind an indigo shadow. There is no moon. No stars that she can see. Eileen steps on a rock and gazes upon the darkening sea. A flower is drowning. A seagull is flying. It’s quiet. It’s lonely.
Funny how she used to love being alone when she was a child. Now she makes paper hearts and lets the wind carry them away. But before long the gravity pulls them down and the sea melts them into nothingness. She watches them fade away, she watches her reflection and loses her step. With her dress covered in sand she sits there and her eyelids flutter, pushing back burning tears.
She has seen the darkness, she has swum in it and she will forever carry it with her. Inside her violet-blue eyes and pounding heart. Pounding, lapsing, lashing, pounding – leaving her gasping for breath, crashing like rain on rough shores.
From the deepest caves under the sea, ghastly shadows call for her. They promise her the best seat on the ferry and a silver throne at the Elysian Fields. And sometimes she moves towards them. Her pale skin shivers with every wave the sea sends towards her. There is something compelling and cleansing about the sea-waters. Something eternal and dark that penetrates the earth and forces her to swim and resurface. It forces her to breathe. To live.
Tags: fiction, photography, words
Melancholic yet lovely
great imagery!