Rinses
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You wake up to chamomile and rosehip tea, and Caleb’s familiar smile.
Everything is warm, soft, safe.
But something in the quiet is too perfect.
Too still.
You remember loving him.
You just don’t remember how you got here.Bookmarked by Rinses
05 May 2025
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The morning begins with her untangling herself from Scaramouche’s body, wiggling out of his hold with a wince, prying his hand from her waist, finger by finger.
And like a clock running on "Lumine" time, as soon as she yawns and stretches her arms over her head, he cracks open his eyes, peeking at her from under his lashes. The sunlight falls over him in slivered rays that cut through the seams of the curtains, clawing over his face. His expression is undecipherable, murky river waters; on the edge of discontent, she decides, from being disturbed out of his dreams.
"You woke up late," Scaramouche says lazily. "It’s already noon."
or: when you love what cannot be loved.
Bookmarked by Rinses
21 Jul 2023