Cute Lesbians ((I need a better title))

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Pale gold champagne swirled warmly in her stomach, lighting her whole body up with pale gold starlight and pale gold fireflies which flared and faded like whispers in howling sky above them. Two pairs of feet thudded in unison like a heartbeat as raindrops ran down their faces, streaking mascara like tears and blinding them as they drew ragged breaths through their lungs.

“Tree!” Willow yelled, shielding her eyes with her free hand. Squeezing her hand, Piper dragged her to the shelter, just as a flash of lightning ripped through the sky, bleaching the scene white.

Damp leaves congealed around their feet and filled the air with a heavy, earthy scent; petrichor filled their throats and choked them like unspoken truths and desires as the pale gold and lustful red autumnal petals that had been clawed from the sheltering trees to dance on the bitter breeze left the shivering couple exposed to the cool midnight air.

My name is Willow Lockheart. I am nineteen years old.  My home is not in the arms of this girl with her head in the stars and her midnight blue nails messing up the fiery hair plastered to my head like a wound, but the woman who smells bright and clear — what I imagine a shooting star would smell like. I am the stone and stars, cold and distant; the desert, alone and perfect in my solitude.

This self-pitying attitude settled over me in a formless way. She left, and she took me with her. No sound, no tears; just a clenching pain and a new found fear of living. Piper’s head nestled against my chest is not a comfort. “Say something, Wills,” I could hear her plead in my head. “Something funny.”

“Careful where your face is there”, I smirk, heartlessly kissing the top of her head, almost feeling the roll of her eyes.

But as nice as her blue eyes are, they aren’t meadow green and they don’t sparkle with the hazy warmth of sadness and loveliness. Her golden hair brushes my nose and holds the smells of a lazy Christmas morning, but those curls aren’t dark brown and glossy and I do not love this girl sleeping in my arms, I thought, as I stared into the relentless storm filling the night with darkness.

I wish I could keep my heart from leaking out of my wrists, like sand falling through my fingers. This pain, fuelled by memory and grief, promises a comforting darkness where I can bleed out in peace. But with the rain tumbling and abating, with the white wind blowing and biting, I knew I did have someone. I needed to move on.

Loving someone makes you vulnerable, that I know all too well. Right now, I have a choice to make. I could keep my heart safe in my ribcage and lock it up in the coffin of my selfishness. But by keeping it for myself, it would become unbreakable, impenetrable. I can’t keep myself from all the dangers of love, and, as I stared at her red lips and rosy cheeks, I realised I didn’t want to.

Her eyes are not a “nice blue”. They're crystal blue, ocean blue. She is not as simple as they wanted her to be. It’s a shade I crave, a shade that makes my heart beat a little bit faster. And as her long lashes flutter open, my desert soul floods with turquoise water; overflowing and cascading and filling every hidden spot of my heart and, in that split second, our lips crash together like the waves of the ocean against the shore.

She speaks the language of supernovas, stardust fleeting on her lips, trapped in that cherry flavoured lip gloss, making each of her words shine. Such purity may have only existed at the beginning of time, when a wonderful mix of elements, unchained and wild, were forged in the heart of a faraway star that exploded and died. Science was never my strong point, but I paid attention to that. Those elements scattered across the desolations of deep space and, after millions of years, they came together and burst apart to form new stars and new planets, shoes and diamonds and suns and Queens. Until, eventually, they came together to make perfection.  To make her. She is unique in the universe. And as our lips locked in the thunderstorm, my only thought was how a mere child of the Earth, of soil and subtle suffering, could be blessed to fall in love with a collision of celestial graces, blazing like a comet and painting fire across the starlit sky.

But in the end, she is a star, and no one in the galaxy has ever loved the stars as fiercely and truly as I do.

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⏰ Last updated: Nov 25, 2014 ⏰

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