perhaps death was never the end,
perhaps it was just the beginning,
the beginning of the end.
if that isn't the case
then i believe i had my hopes up for nothing,
absolutely nothing.
━━ in which heather cartier, an alluring heartbreaker, rises from...
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002, DEAD LETTERS
❝ reflections they give me that my mirror does not they know the new me not the old me, that I am not ❞
Heather could very closely recall the tale of a young girl with fifteen years to her life, a wild child. The girl would climb out of her window at the witching hour to gaze at the stars from atop her roof, she would wear mismatched socks on purpose, skip school on Mondays and roller skate down the hallways.
Eventually, her storm calmed, no one knew how the hurricane of a girl dissipated, she just did. She was replaced with something of a stranger, a new entity; this girl was bleeding with acedia — it was painted in the cracks of her lazy smiles, anguished eyes and unintended repose.
Heather perhaps missed the wildfire with cool green eyes rather than the calm breeze scented with sorrow. Now, both of them were succeeded by an enigma of a woman, with honey comb lungs, agate studded heart and silk spun hair. With every passing dawn, she knew that she had disappointed them both and a part of her couldn't bring herself to care.
She looked over the streets from her balcony, they teemed and overflowed with life, never once tearing at the seams. A cigarette rested between lips and perhaps she contemplated lighting it, but the craving of self destruction that clawed at her bones was far stronger than any protests that she could have ever come up with.
Heather lifted a lighter to the end of the cigarette and a second later smoke poured out from a small parting of her lips. After inhaling the destructive smoke into her lungs, she took the cigarette from her lips with two graceful fingers. She tipped her head back, her eyes looking up at the transparent roof that hooded the balcony. A wisp of smoke leaked from her lips, forming into a distorted cloud, her hand lazily dangled from the arm of her chair as she apathetically listened to the beating heart of New Orleans.
It was the beginnings of May, and the enthralled people of New Orleans were still in their Jazz festival frenzy. The sound of artful music reverberated through the city, sometimes the sound took her breath away.
She tried to enjoy it while it lasted, the colorful streets, dazzling parades and the music that played into the air, Heather knew she would have to let New Orleans go — what she didn't know was that New Orleans wasn't ready to let go of her.
