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The trees of a rainforest, the tough skin of a crocodile, and the shine of an emerald. Natasha’s eyes never faltered, never softened. They were the next most noticeable feature of her’s next to her hair.
She can pretend to hide in her shell, like a turtle hiding away from predators, but Maria will always see through it. The soft sage, with just a hint of the darkness of moss, they were captivating.
Eyes never lie— Natasha can believe her chartreuse can deceit herself, but never Maria. She may masquerade as the poison of a Widow, and she may believe it, but those thorns of her’s never has and never will scare the brunette.
Maria knows that. Maria sees the hundreds of untold stories just by staring into the deep eucalyptus of her’s. Her eyes just so happen to be the same shade as the hulk.
“You don’t have to do this” Maria remembers .
”I want to.” Natasha grits a lie through her teeth— a lie only she believed.
Such deception that was hung between them, a tragedy. Natasha can see herself as Ophelia’s child that may never live. Forever stuck alone with no one to rescue her from her own venom. However, she is the opposite.
The brunette’s love was a limelight. Expect at some point when you love something so much, it begins to physically hurt you, and you just have to distance yourself.
For every breath Maria would take, zinnias and daffodils would bloom in her lungs. If it was possible, Maria would lend Natasha her heart so for just a moment, the redhead’s pulse would be for her. Let the widow’s presence fill her lungs as her chest grows heavy
Heavy with such unwavering love and grief for what will never be. When her spirit meets the bones, just as the vines of ivy meet the ground, maybe then Natasha will see what she does.
For now, though, Maria will have to live seeing his evergreen skin and her soft jades together, kept like the secret she knows she can pledge as an oath.
When clover blooms in the spring, and the countryside’s grass grows tall, all Maria will see is her eyes. Resting upon the beauty of nature’s celadon. She may pose as the sour of a citrus lime, but she will always be as sweet as a watermelon that grew in the summer. They are the sky that meets the forest, and the lake that meets the grass.
Divinity that of a god, a love as pure and soft as a rose bush, the cosmic desire for the perpetual possession of her goodness and beauty that she does not see. A need to feel the care she gives to him. Someday, it’ll be hers.
Some other life time. Because Maria was sure that Natasha is her only constant. The brunette will keep planting seeds of patience in her quest to build her the garden of eden. Natasha would be worth the hundreds of pricks of thorns on her hands, because her serpentines are worth the pain.