literature

holding hands into the night

Deviation Actions

Published: Jan 23, 2014

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Literature Text

The starships align in a billowing constellation of gravity and shimmer down on the firefly-studded cities below.

the rain brings sweet whispers of hushed voices in the night, when the tires squeal against oil and someone realizes that they love someone, too.

There's a day when the cacophony of chitchat is cloaked in chocolate and lined in velvet, and nights are reserved for twilight-soaked kisses and blooming roses.

little girls wash their faces of innocence and swipe on glittery lipgloss, while the older sit in their car, swabbing mascara over their eyelashes and praying to someone that they'll be picked. something waiting in their locker. doe-eyed as if someone plucked the stars from the sky and stuck them in their pupils.

Puppy love fires its tinted arrow at unsuspecting teens, and does away with stereotypes in favor of scarlet and magenta wishes. Smoke and mirrors pirouette around the world, as one person after another come down with a case of heavy crushes.

but it's not like there are any sort of adult different. finding them in bar, sitting on stools with a drink in hand, waiting for a pretty little bite-to-eat to walk on by. they'll scoop 'er up in a taxi and take her to the apartment, and though the sky is filled with heart throbs and blooming kisses, their sheets will only tangle with remorse because- (they do not know how to love.)

But in this particular Valentine’s, the sky wailed and waterfalled a torrent of melting hopes. Couples were torn apart by the rippling rain, and others stayed in their hearth of diminishing flames and glistening ashes.

the little girls who hid behind the swing set were left to soak out under the clouds, their counterparts yielding wilting weeds behind their backs and tucked into their trousers. the teens' wheels sloshing through the sodden hearts in their chest, wondering when they'd find some sort of love for themselves.

bloody adults drinking. and again, and again, and again, until their sorrows could be heard no more than their heart beat.

They're hollow like the bottles that they drain, drowning the burning passion of crushed passion and iridescent disappointment. On the other hand, teens don't seem too bothered by the sharp rain; they grip a hand in their own and pitter-patter through the misted streets. They wouldn't drown. At least, not now.

It feels so scary getting old.

and who's to say that they won't survive? their fingers groping sloppily at the organs inside their skin, wondering if they could possibly sever the time bomb between their ribcage. toes curling every time they see red (because we hate we hate we hate). but they turn their faces to the sky, little salt water pearls dripping down their cheeks and off their chin, and they climb up the clouds to the blanketed night, and when they finally reach the top-

-"i love you," to the twinkle in the galaxy's eye when she smiles.

It's a peculiar event; the galaxies fade into a creamy dusk as scarlet hearts begin to float. Evening is done away with in favor of a welcoming night. Swim through time, and the clouds invite lovers into a welcoming haven.

and that's how they'll break.

holding hands into the night, watching the black fade to light and then back again, because all they can do so lay starry-eyed on the grass beneath the velvet sky, waiting for their halley's comet to explode into shatters upon the milky way.