I wanted her bones, her blood, her tissues, the sinews that bound her together. I would have held her to me though time had slipped away the tones and textures of her skin. I could have held her for a thousand years until the skeleton itself rubbed away to dust. What are you that makes me feel thus? Who are you for whom time has no meaning?
In the heat of her hands I thought, this is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me, and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm.
Written On The Body — Jeanette Wilson!
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𝒟ream 𝒢irl. ༒ ( an original character book created by isabelle, read in any color background with the smallest times new roman font. )
