Work Text:
“Sometimes referred to as the bishop’s flower, Queen Anne’s lace is associated with safety and refuge. On the other hand, the curling of their flower heads is often likened to a bird’s nest, which reminds us of the love and commitment it takes to build a happy home.”
The earth spins on its axis at roughly 460 meters per second, and Lasko had felt every fucking inch of it. He’d feel each nauseating mile press his overcome body to the earth’s jagged crust as his head had spun nearly just as fast as this world had. There was always something to preoccupy his mind with, but now… it was quiet. Nothing. Had the planet stopped turning?
No. Lakso knew that if earth had stopped spinning entirely all at once, his hard-earned outcomes of countless favors fulfilled and obligations seen through to the end would burn off into glowing ashes of dissatisfaction as they’d soar straight into the blazing atmosphere, his own vows to himself to be something “more” amongst them. The momentum would send everything and everyone he knows and loves flying eastward as the moving rocks and oceans would prompt earthquakes of disappointment and tsunamis of failure, wiping his progress clean off the map. The Hadean Eon.
He wouldn’t let that happen, as if he had any say in the matter. He couldn’t, not again. Not with as far as he had come into his own as someone worth looking in the eyes, let alone respecting. The earth would always still keep spinning, though, and Lasko would always have some obligation to put before himself.
In my house, snow is falling down
But now, as class was out and students were vacationing on spring break, it was the first time in ages there was nothingness as every obligation and task had been checked off the expansive list. And even that ear-splitting silence seemed to mock him in his efforts to be as still as his living room had been- devastatingly solitary, void of everything other than himself. A soundless, bitter chill; formidable, frostbitten winds brought from the north.
Boreas, it’s been a while. How are you, my old friend?
Had this suppressed silence always been this deafening? Suffocating. Keeping his head preoccupied would smother out that abyssal quietness, the one that had been louder than anything he’s ever heard or felt before.
He wanted to throw up. So much room to think and utilize his given right of free will- a death sentence. Breathing heavy, ears ringing. It was horrifying, the rate in which he could throw himself into that dark and bottomless cavern of yesterday’s mistakes; how he’d drown in the unforgiving riptides of “what if’s” and “could’ve beens”, all because he had a moment to himself. Bloody waters.
For how long will you be staying, Boreas?
Once the icy, thick fog of his cramped apartment had become far too much to bare, hypothermia clawing at his skull and ribcage, his mind racing and vision obscured, Lasko found himself seeking a familiar refuge. Anything to fill the blaring noiselessness, so... he knocked on his Freelancer’s doorstep.
Solemn nights, haven't lost or found it
With an expression painted with worry- a rather unbecoming look for them, he’ll admit- they were quick to usher the Air Elemental inside with such tenacity, one would think an acid rain storm had loomed above and threatened to burn their lover's skin raw just as his own stream of defeated tears had.
Without a word spoken, the Freelancer seemed to understand, just as Lasko knew they would. Freelancer understood well, for they had shaken Boreas’s cold, algid hand themself a few times before. You don’t forget that sort of bone-chilling stillness. They could see it in Lasko’s eyes, frozen over with that thunderous restlessness and unease.
You aren’t aware of how honestly on your own you are until you leave. Until “home” is something you realize was just a foreign-feeling word with no real meaning behind it. Leaving is not the same as turning the page to a new chapter, but more like picking up a whole new book entirely when you haven’t finished the first one, abandoning that older story for something more... eye-catching. One day you’re sitting at your old and worn childhood dining room table, daydreaming and wishing on disregarding stars, and then all of a sudden, it was just you on your own- that’s it. You left those stars behind in search of something greater, something more. Something safe. Something good. It’s liberating all the same, yet sometimes so overwhelmingly silent. It’s just you, now. And maybe it always has been, but more-so in a figurative sense rather than literally.
Lasko remembers that stifled feeling well. How could he not? Leaving home was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. Don’t think about it. Even then, that roaring silence was with him all the time, hiding behind the plethora of tasks the Air Elemental would keep himself infinitely busy with. The smaller the to-do list would get, the louder his mind would become. Don’t think about it. Like a sensory deprivation tank, he’d be imprisoned in the pitch black darkness with nothing other than himself, his own thoughts, and the water beneath him until someone let him out. Drifting. That fine line between drifting afloat and soundlessly sinking- he eventually wouldn’t be able to tell where that line had began or ended. Don’t. Think. About it.
It isn’t yet the season for your frozen reign, Boreas- let him breathe, let him see.
Oh, how grateful was he that his Freelancer had happily taken the honor upon themselves to liberate their partner and fill the silence that had tormented him, that teasing and degrading and battering kind of silence.
Their reassuring voice was as soft as the hands that guided him into their bathroom, shutting the door so that the universe had dwindled down to just the two of them inside those Robin’s Egg Blue painted walls.
Half of me is trying not to want
“Okay, love, sit tight. Is that alright? I’m not leaving, just letting go of your hands for a minute, okay?” they consoled as Lasko slightly nodded his head, face still streaked with the tears of relief that managed to escape his begrudging hold when his Freelancer opened their front door. He couldn’t help it; their voice had sounded so nice inside his head.
Sitting there on the edge of Freelancer’s bathtub, he simply watched them move about. Gathering two fuzzy towels and tossing them in the dryer, putting drops of tea tree essential oil into their diffuser, pulling out his favorite lounge t-shirt and pajama pants the Freelancer kept in their drawer for when he spent the night, setting out their hairbrush and that beloved coconut oil product that had made their hair even softer, if that was possible. It was comforting to him to know that they were simply existing with him, no words were necessary. That’s okay.
He could do that now, with them- sit inside a comfortable silence. It wasn’t the same resounding silence he faced when he was alone with those unfavorable thoughts and abhorrent memories racking his brain, because now that quietness was shared by somebody who understood what it sounded like and how fucking loud and grating it could be. Somebody who knew what it felt like to tear themself from something that had always been a constant in their life, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Somebody that understood what it was like to leave everything behind and carve out a new path for your own well-being, for your survival. Somebody who wanted a happy future and went to go take it for themselves. Somebody that he admired and loved entirely.
The Freelancer taught Lasko that he was allowed to share that silence with them and anyone else he wanted to. Be open, be comfortable, be vulnerable, be whatever the hell he had needed to be in that moment. Open the bottle and let it go. He didn’t have to lock himself in his room or choke on all the responsibilities he’d pile on for himself or hole up all alone just so he could noiselessly let those tears go unnoticed by anyone else. It was safe when he cried in his Freelancer’s presence. It was warm, and all of him was welcomed.
Boreas, I think it’s time for you to leave.
The hot shower that they had ran to replace the soundlessness of the remaining empty airspace began to fill the bathroom with steam, clouding up the spotless mirror that was covered in little, colorful sticky notes that Caelum liked to hide around the Freelancer’s apartment while they were away. A lot of ‘I love you’s, some ‘you are amazing’s, and a drawing that appeared to be that of a small horse. That one was Lasko’s favorite. Knowing that his Freelancer was cherished by more people than just himself, that it wasn’t ever too quiet for them, made the corners of his mouth quirk into a faint smile. Pride to call them his and him theirs washed over him as the steam fogged up his glasses.
Freelancer chuckled and knelt down beside the Air Elemental, delicately removing his foggy glasses from the bridge of his nose, careful to not scratch his rosy complexion that would without fail flush at the gesture. It always gave him butterflies, the care and softness they had often handled him with. Not that he needed to be coddled, that was far from it, but he figured why fight it, you know? It felt nice to have someone take care of you. He was grateful that that someone was Freelancer.
What I want is something I forgot
“Hey, doin’ a bit better, I take it?” they’d ask. Lasko nodded, tucking the piece of Freelancer’s hair that always fell in front of their eyes back behind their ear as they rubbed their hands up and down his forearms. Warm eyes, he thought. They smiled, eyeing the shower that beckoned the two magic wielders to respectively scrub away all of the day’s worries and perturbation while in each other’s good company.
The Freelancer took their time to languidly undress their partner from a cable-knit sweater that had been layered over top a white, pressed button-up and ‘casual’ dress pants, leaving behind chaste kisses as they did so.
Once undressed themself, they put a hand on Lasko’s bare lower back to encourage him to get inside the shower while it still ran hot. He stepped underneath the scalding water, just how they both liked it, and sighed at the relief brought on by the euphoric heat that worked at the muscles he didn’t even realize were so tense until then. The Freelancer joined him, thankful that the shower head was large enough to wash both of their taxing woes and rigidity down the drain simultaneously.
After a few moments, Lasko turned to face them and thank them for their company, for all of this, but the Freelancer beat him to it by asking, “Would it be alright with you if I used this? Like, would you let me do it for you?” Holding up a small cream-colored washcloth, they gestured towards his relatively relaxed figure and the fresh bar of soap that sat atop of the built-in nook for such related products. He nodded. Yeah, that’s definitely alright.
A kiss was lovingly placed to the front of his right shoulder, tracing the pastel, lilac-colored bar of soap over him where their mouth had just been. Honey and lavender. Smells like them, soothing and subtle. His breath caught in his throat as they leisurely traveled kissing across his fair chest and down his arms, turning him just enough to plant a kiss to the nape of his slender neck, then tracing it with the bar of soap. Onto his defined shoulder blades, they had paid special attention to the delicately lined tattoo that pictured a bouquet of Queen Anne’s lace flowers, the bunch tied together in a lazy bow with a ribbon of silk. Delicate like Lasko, and not in a way that was feeble or cowardly, but more-so graceful and pristine and intricate; both a work of art.
Freckles scattered his lean back- one of the Freelancer’s favorite physical attributes of his- mimicking the patterns of an astronomical map. The Freelancer made a point to kiss every one of them within a reasonable distance as the upturn of their satisfied smile surely had been felt on the Air Elemental’s flushed skin. They’d give his spine the same treatment, moving up to press their own flushed face into the crook of his neck from behind, as a wandering hand wrapped around his side and splayed against his ribcage to feel his breathing closer. In, out. They pressed their own chest to Lasko’s back so he could feel his Freelancer breathe the same. In, out. Were it the droplets of water rolling off the top of his head, or the salty tears of relief welling in his ever-adoring eyes, he wouldn’t have cared because it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. Their breathing, their heartbeat, their aura. Solace. In, out.
“Thank you for letting me take care of you,” they hushed with a kiss to the underside of his ear, as if reading his mind. “And thank you for trusting me, for coming to me for something when you needed it. Just… Thank you.” Glistening, tearful streaks return, falling, rolling. That’s okay.
Farewell, Boreas. I’m sure we’ll meet again.
“Tell me what you need, love. It’s just us. I’m not going anywhere, only unless you’d want me to.” Soft whispers, the lavender lathers of soap met with the comforting massages of the washcloth, cleansing the suds of hardship and indifference from his deeply kissed skin.
Ease up, kid, don't you worry, you'll be fine
“Don’t go, please, don’t. I need- I need you… with me. Please.” His heart sank to the mantle of the earth’s molten interior just having the Freelancer mention leaving his side void of their presence, however, the offer’s intention was appreciated. But right now, he needed to feel their attentive hands wash away the blood from the scrapes and bruises of an enervating adolescence. He needed to feel them press his back flush with their bare chest to feel their ribcage expand with air and let it go. He needed to hear their affirmations that would heal him from the inside out, to feel the fixed pulse of their glowing aura pressed just as close as their heartbeat.
He wanted to reach out and run his fingers in the luminescence of the Freelancer’s magic, like it was a mollifying stream made of the same sickly-sweet honey they both now faintly smelled of, golden and spirited. He wanted to drink the honey in as it were a sanative elixir.
“I’m right here, always. Tell me how I can help, yeah?” they inquired. Lasko exhaled an edged breath he had been holding for what felt like days. That damn question- some years ago it’d feel like making a deal with the devil. ‘Your voice isn’t welcomed here’, people had often reminded him. But that was a different time and that was a different crowd. Now, in this little blue bathroom with his partner holding him as his cogent anchor, he was sanctified and heard. Baptized by the sinless water he shared with the one he held most dear, his own tears washed from pure skin. You can tell them, it’s okay.
“I… I want, uhm… fuck, Lasko…” he started, letting go another shaky exhale, releasing his diffidence along with it, “I want… to f-feel you. Closer.” His eyes closed as he felt another sweet kiss be planted to the bouquet’s silky ribbon, written in permanent ink as a sacred promise to himself, and another kiss to the back of his neck, a promise of the Freelancer’s own to assure their lover that all that mattered was that moment in time, existing just as they are. Safe.
“Mm, we can do that. Would you like to go lay down? I can hold you if that’s wh-”
“No. Well y-yes I want that too, eventually… but I mean you. I want to feel you. Y-your core… magic. I want you to-to hold all of me, all at once. Here,” he confessed, whipping around to face them as his eyes quickly widened with the sudden realization of his seemingly selfish request.
“Oh, my God- unless if that would make you uncomfortable because that is the last thing on the planet that-that I would ever want, so please don’t feel l-like you’re obligated t-mph-”
Ah, there it was- that kiss that’d stun him into a welcomed silence. For as long as the pair had been together, Lasko should’ve been able to predict when his Freelancer’s loving hands would reach up around his neck and pull him in. God, he lived for it. It’d catch his breath like clockwork, and Freelancer lived for that, too. Somethin’ somethin’, Air Elemental somehow knocked breathless, somethin’ somethin’. Quite the ego boost, if they’re being honest.
Simple worries have got you, it's alright
With their hands threading through his dark hair, the shade matching that deep, black ink of his symbolic tattoo, Freelancer pulled away from his mouth with a sigh that appraised him I love you, thank you. The Freelancer extended their magic out to graze against his own, their eyes giving him such a gleam that it had outshined every culpable, tentative thought he had flickering inside his head. His haven, they were. They only held him tighter, chest to chest, as Lasko returned the gesture. His own magic had called out, reaching out to his Freelancer’s thrumming core, finally drinking that honeyed homeliness in, so sickly sweet.
Zephyrus, there you are! I’ve missed you, my dear friend. Your western winds of early spring, your warm breezes of promise. Stay a while?
After some time feeling one another as they were, the Freelancer, begrudgingly, removed their chest from his to take a small handful of a different soap, a liquid. With his delicate hands resting their hips, Lasko watched at his partner tilted their head back and mouthed “tip”, indicating for him to do the same. He obeyed, leaning his head back to allow the water to run through his raven hair that was just a couple inches shy from reaching the tops of his shoulders. When his partner’s hands found their way to where the water met his scalp, they started massaging the soap in, resulting in a heavy sigh from the Air Elemental that had soon turned into many more little noises of contentment. Sage and lemon.
The combination of the botanical fragrances smelled like Freelancer. Home smelled like honey and lavender and sage and lemon. Home was standing in a room that was painted a shade of Robin’s Egg Blue and had a multitude of colorful sticky notes with little drawn horses plastered on its walls. Home made itself out to be intertwined with someone who had to search for refuge and found it, just as Lasko had, pressed flush against each other’s beating hearts with their hands working him over and taking care of him. Home was the careful hold of each other’s magic, supporting one other as if their cores were welded together by the universe with that purpose in mind.
The Freelancer understood his angles and curves of a past life in a way that Lasko would never wish upon anybody, but now that he has them and they have him, neither were going to let bond slip through their grasp- a sentiment that was comforting in of itself. Power and safety found in numbers, and all that.
Things will change with the seasons, until that time
Destined for an eternity of forever being engulfed by air used to terrify Lasko. Ironic, isn’t it? Having to rely on that very thing that nearly every land-dwelling life-form had to depend on for literal survival, himself included. Lasko used to find it spitefully unfair to be so tightly wound with the parts of him that he feared and grew to loathe, the shit he couldn’t help because it was him. Being dealt the ‘Air Elemental’ card was a taunting capital punishment for just being a bit different than those he grew up around. It could take your breath away just as quickly as it gave it to you.
The people you were assigned on earth with were the people you were supposed to depend on. They were to teach you how to navigate through the parts of the world that were brimming with contempt and disdain. For the hapless lot of folks like Lasko, like the Freelancer, those people would leave you behind, condemning you to deal with the taste of the bitter fruits of their baleful labor when it came time for you to move on.
If you could leave, that is. Some people weren’t capable of bringing themselves to run fast and far; it’s a grimly cruel fate. A fate such as that was as dangerous as a nasty infection, especially when it was left untreated to fester in the forbidding iciness of suppressed disregard and neglect. Sepsis would take hold of your philosophy on life and of your own self, spilling the infected blood into into the rivers that every one else in your life had to drink from.
Lasko had not surrendered to sepsis, and neither had his Freelancer. They had packed their life up and started walking to a place where they hoped others would be a bit different, too. And now that they’ve found each other, they’ll walk together hand in hand. How does that one quote go? “We all look for the people who bring out the best in us, the soul leans towards those who guide and guard it,” or something… They don’t know where they’re going, but that doesn’t matter because they figured out that being different is what made life so beautiful, especially if you had someone to share it with- to be different with.
Be a man, be a brother, you'll be fine
In that moment, standing in the Freelancer’s little blue bathroom, Lasko was reminded that his element had no intentions of viciously grabbing him by the throat to crush the life from his chest cavity against his valiant efforts to catch his breath, but instead, it served as a quilt stitched with power within strength. It was a sword and shield; it was the breath of life. Resilient like wildflowers. Air is the lifeblood of many, and that is a simply incredible power to hold.
Air is, well, everywhere. The zephyrs of spring carry seeds to where they’re destined to grow and thrive. The gales that glide over the ocean’s surface fill the sails of ships that bring opportunity and discovery, as it also delivers the rain to thirsty grasslands. Wind, when utilized properly, holds the potential to power a whole country. Air allows for wishes to come true, blowing out every birthday candle a match had struck. Air carries the very words we speak to each other, the music that we play for each other. It puts breath inside every lung that calls for it. That… is an incredible power to hold. One that would always leave the Freelancer awestruck.
For Lasko, it was the Freelancer’s magic that had kissed the encompassing air with capacity and weight. It was their efforts that had helped transfigure that mighty quilt into a weighted blanket, grounding Lasko to the wet, off-white porcelain of the Freelancer’s bathtub. Through their bridge, they could feel how deeply close their partner held the feeling of that gravity, as it had held his world together.
“It’s a world that you deserve to be a part of just as much as anyone else, including myself. It’s a world that I’m incredibly honored to share with you. So beautiful,” they whispered to him through their stream of thoughts. That stream had sounded like dripping honey just as it had felt as such, leaving Lasko with the notion that the world would never feel so tumultuous ever again. With the sheer magnitude of which their magic had surged through him, he felt untouchable. Divinely protected.
Their touch was always so gentle, affectionately rinsing the earthy, aromatic soap from his hair as their honeyed aura had filled up every possible corner of empty space and unwarranted silence there might’ve been left to linger behind. His skin was delicately loved as every part of him was. It was a glorious development. He hadn’t always been touched this way, so sweetly, not before Freelancer. His body remembers.
Suds and tears and the dirt of past dismissal washed away, Lasko found himself hallowed by the hands of his Freelancer, sinless and clean. Sanctified and whole, entirely loved. The Freelancer was immensely at peace, for they had the opportunity to watch as Lasko had taken after his Queen Anne’s lace tattoo, resembling those wildflowers that had grown wherever the winds of change had carried them: between the cracks of rock, atop of dirt and clay, admits a bed of invasive weeds. Resilient in their own beautiful ways. Admiration, immense pride, and reverence was laced between every word they had to offer him just as every touch ever given was for him, never against him.
While I'm home I think of other beds
“The world doesn’t slow down for people like us, Lasko. It doesn’t give that mercy to anybody. So, instead…we have to work with the resources that we have already. And by God… you did just that.”
“Wh-how? What do you mean?”
“Terraform… cultivate life and growth from a new beginning. Reformation. You- we created a fresh start, a blank slate… when we came here, to D.A.M.N., wouldn’tcha say? Genesis.”
A very Freelancer answer, Lasko thought, so easy to not let those opportunistic winds of change escalate into a rather uncharitable cyclone that’d knock you down and keep you there, pinned to the dirt. Then again, one glance over to their declared Post-It note mirror, it was evident that even Caelum could recognize that they held that signature Freelancer grit inside of them. One of them read:
“Remember that you are WATER; Cry. Cleanse. Flow. Let go.
Remember that you are FIRE; Burn. Tame. Adapt. Ignite.
Remember that you are AIR; Observe. Breathe. Focus. Decide.
Remember that you are EARTH; Ground. Give. Build. Heal.
-Munshira Althaf”
Finding comfort in the sheets instead
Despite being the Air Elemental, it was often times Lasko who had brought his Freelancer back down to earth and out of the clouds. In return, Freelancer would show Lasko how to take life as it comes. They’d show him how to ask for what he wanted because they showed him that he deserved it. They showed him that the sound of his voice is a gift to any who were lucky enough to hear it, never a burden, and that they look out for each other because that’s what a family does.
Dearest Anne, wash the dirt from your misheld hands;
Those are your hands to hold and protect you.
Gentle and loving.
“You deserve the same happiness that you wish for others. Be proud of that progress,” they thought as they placed their hands on his shoulders, running them slowly down to his chest, lingering, then to his hips to take the sight of him in. Sometimes, obviously with more clothes on, the Freelancer would absentmindedly let their fingers slip though his belt loops to bring him closer an inch or two, then release. Absentmindedly for the Freelancer, anyways. Lasko, however, noticed the quirk as soon as it had developed and he took comfort in the little ways his partner fiddled with their surroundings just as he does. It made him smile each time.
Mother planted a garden in the back
“I am, I promise. I feel like-like I get lost in this… perception of what perfection is supposed to look like and how that, uh, those… loud parts… o-of my brain constantly make me feel. It’s gotten better! Of course. And you’ve helped immensely with that, Freelancer, genuinely, but… it’s just- sometimes it’s too much… all at once. And today, I don’t even know. I-I just bent under the weight of it all, I guess.”
“Growing pains, baby. I know some things are hard to let go of, so take as much time as you need. It’s yours. You’ve got… such a pretty vision inside your head, and you have already expanded on so much of it. You are incredibly beautiful, every part of you. I am… so… proud of you. Proud of us,” they laughed. Minutes passed by as the two relished in the feeling of how being inside the presence of someone you love, that deafening silence loses its bite and its bark, truly becomes genuine silence. Actual quiet, like the weight of the wold lifting off your shoulders. “Mmm… water is gettin’ cold. You wanna dry off and lay down with me now?”
Dearest Anne, get up off the unmerciful ground;
That is your ground to tread and dance on.
Sturdy and reliable.
"Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you. You feel- you feel beautiful. Always have,” he’d respond, leaving Freelancer with a hum with immense gratification and a beaming smile that had mimicked Lasko’s own. “I’d like that,” and not a ‘you don’t have to worry about me’. Such a beautiful heart, he had.
Thank you, Zephyrus.
Dried off with warmed and fuzzy towels and dressed in cozy lounge clothes, Lasko let the Freelancer brush his hair as they hummed a tune from some band they saw in concert last weekend with Hux, taking their time as they needed it. The softness of his hair was something the Freelancer took great enjoyment in mindlessly running their fingers though, so take their time they did. Not that Lasko minded in the slightest.
Dearest Anne, brush the dust from your worn knees;
Those are your legs to carry you far and apace.
Intrepid and daring.
I don't feel very hungry, I'm sorry about that.
Having made a cup of chamomile tea, Lasko’s favorite, the only sounds to be taken into consideration as they lay in the Freelancer’s made bed were the low whirrs of the ceiling fan and the gentle buzz of the each other’s lingering magic. The traces of those soothing remnants of the Freelancer’s core further emphasized where the Air Elemental was as he was positioned facing his partner, expression void of any tension or concern. He was nestled tight against their chest to hear their heart praise the same promises as their residual magic whispered to him. Freelancer wrapped themself around him, shielding his exhausted figure from anything that’d dare to bare its teeth at him while in their protective hold. Both safe and held, they were equally as grateful and gratified to be just as such.
Dearest Anne, wipe the blood from your scraped palms;
That is your blood to be left unshed and clean.
Sacred and alive.
Lasko’s eyes closed, giving into the heavy press of the weighted blanked that his Freelancer’s aura had left behind as a reminder that he was home. He’d let his thoughts drift into the stars that had guided him to solace, recalling all the sweet truths his Freelancer had spoken to him during their time figuring life out together.
Dearest Anne, dry the tears from your gleaming eyes;
Those are your eyes to see the means to an end.
Promising and bright.
Lasko will live every day as it comes, just like Freelancer will, whether that day has its arms lovingly open and inviting, or its claws are sharp and slashing. He’ll live it every day with a Queen Anne’s lace flower bouquet etched in dark and permanent ink on his right scapula to serve as an emblem to prove that he had endured every day he’s ever lived before with success. A dainty, but significant, spray of bishop’s flowers to match the one on his Freelancer’s own shoulder, who has lived every day before the next as well. The silence was as quiet as it always should be.
Just for tonight, at least, and that’s okay.
Dearest Anne, find the forgiving hillsides where your wildflowers will grow.
It’s quiet there, entirely of your own making.
Yours truly,
yours, truly