OPEN | prompt two | LOVE

[wrens]

prompt two | L O V E And what you can never know from the beginning is how hard or how long you'll love something; how even when it is gone the love will chase you down, loping like dark flame through your blood. — Some lies are love. — Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It's like the tide going out, revealing whatever's been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future. The ruin you've made.

 

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Comments

[factual]

Pity we didn't get more snow than we did, [ Cary notes, nodding out the window once he's seated again. ] Always liked snow. Gets me in the mood for Christmas. [ He keeps his gaze turned just a moment longer before he looks at her, smiling a little more broadly. ] It sounded a little more rational in my head.

[ When he's out with her, he tends to get a few glances, too. More judgment than not, although it can't be said that he cares either way. If they don't care for the company that he keeps, then screw 'em. Cary isn't the type to make friends easily (acquaintances, sure), and those that he does make, he keeps, everyone else be damned. ]

[thunderclap]

[ She laughs, low and even like slow-pouring molasses. There's a sweetness to everything that Cherry Darling does but, in contrast to that, there's a smokiness too. Women like her have to strike a delicate balance between wanting and wanted, between goddess and whore and — to her credit — Cherry Darling's perfected it to a near art. Where other girls might come off affected and strained, there is an effortless to her — no facade, just second nature. (A symptom perhaps of knowing exactly what she's worth: good manners, a few drinks. A fancy meal and a couple of laughs. It's not a high bar but it's not exactly low, either. Which is as much self-worth as a Cherry will allow herself. Still, she's well ahead of the curve.)

Her elbow rests on the table, her chin dips into her hand. ]

Still sounds pretty rational where I'm sittin', sweetheart. A winter wonderland without snow's a sad state of affairs. [ She tips her head, her gaze drifting towards the window. ] Me, I'd rather be somewhere warm, and brown as a nut. And Santa — he'd just have to wait 'til I got back.