─── ･ ｡ʚɞ ･
❛ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔. Warm and close,
as fresh laundry and here we are, Tuesday.
Of course you love me ━ you are wearing
one of my socks. ❜
To prevent marmalade from crystallizin...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂
IN HER BUCKINGHAMSHIRE HAVEN, EVERY EVENING UNFOLDED THE VERY SAME WAY.
When the clock struck 3 p.m., the sun, ever punctual, would drape the town in a warm, golden glow, like orange sherbet melting across the sky, coating the city of her heart with a syrupy sweetness that brightened her life and the nostalgia of an ice cream cone shared with her late grandfather long ago.
Many tourists often criticized the slow, unchanging life in Milton Keynes, but Honey could never understand how anyone could possibly loathe something so grounding. It's all she has ever known, and all she would ever want. Her parents had long given up on trying to convince her to move—to explore whatever wonderland they believed she found beyond their small town when she had attended college in Cambridge—because they recognized that Milton Keynes was where her heart truly belonged. The thought of leaving it all behind felt like abandoning a piece of herself.
Honey has spent her entire life watching the early sunset from the gates of Loughton Heights, first as a student and now as a teacher. It is what she wanted for the rest of it—unchanging and unfaltering—but standing here instead, outside the Red Bull Racing factory, her lifelong routine felt impeded. Unnaturally so, as if the native sights and nature sounds of her hometown had been replaced by the crass hum of machinery and the scent of burning rubber.
In what way could something so dreadful possibly be beneficial? It simply couldn't be.
She maintained her composure as she led the kids inside the academy bus, reminding herself that change was unavoidable and essential for growth, as her psychologist had taught her—but that did not mean she had to enjoy seeing the sameness of the skyline from her youth changed by development. It did not mean that she welcomed the loss of green spaces and the urbanization encroaching on her once quaint town, or the increased traffic and noise pollution that came with it. She found no pleasure in the sight of privately owned helicopters descending onto the once tranquil fields, nor in the droned growl of imported sports cars racing through the streets.
It was 3 p.m. again. Like an unfailing clockwork, Milton Keynes was bathed in the familiar aureate light that had graced it since her birth. It should be comforting; Honey had always believed this meant some things would never change. Yet, she pondered, watching the millionaires, foreign and famous, standing next to her, that perhaps it wasn't entirely true after all.
When did her home go from lodging pensioners and young families to being a hub for high-performance racing teams? When did she close her eyes long enough for the morning strolls of the elderly to be replaced by the rush of mechanics and engineers preparing for races?
How long has it been, precisely, since Honey turned her back to the world and decided the grounds of the academy would be her sanctuary? It possibly couldn't have been more than a few years—five graduating classes, she remembered—but the exact moment of her retreat seemed to blur in her memory now.
