Work Text:
it’s may again and time to shake off all the cobwebs stacked in her mind from winter, to go out and lay in the sun for hours, to cultivate the vegetable garden and wear short lace skirts again.
spring is here and the weight lifts off her chest, that choking, seething sadness that takes hold of her longer and harder every winter and doesn’t want to let go, but with the first blooms budding and her poet weaving blossoms into their hair as they lay in the grass and create castles from clouds, the great black thing in the back of her head releases and she can smile and dance and love again. she’s no longer the grey thing in the window praying for a spark of light.
jehan takes her hand and leads her through the park, through trees and fields, to old castles on young hills and to sips pink wine with her at the base of la sorgue where they get in trouble for dipping their feet in, just for a moments.
paris brightens and under his fingertips words like lightning etch across her skin in gentle thudding couplets. and cosette loves the way his eyes sing and smile and laugh but his mouth never moves a millimeter.
they wander together through the halls covered in other peoples’ view of the world, and watch foreigners and frenchman and children all alike discover elation and despair spread out in oil and acrylic, moths captured on film between the flutter of wings.
it is may and the lark flies back towards the sun.