Work Text:
Snow, but I don’t feel it. Familiar roads, signs — Cyrillic — all falling over me. It’s the wrong sort of boring.
Here I am, finally, too little too late. Not enough, never was. No home left but the one in your
Arms. What if I don’t come back here? What if next time we meet, it’s the start of something safe,
New, unclouded? I’m not stupid; we keep the walls like we keep the secrets, but no more of this gnawing,
Eternal hunger. Let me hear your voice. Tell me we’re compatible, soft and pretty, birdsong instead of the sharp noise.
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If you were here with me, I’d pull your head against my chest. I’d let all your hurt rumble into my bones until nothing was
Left to say. Then I’d kiss you, fingers tangled in your hair, because I already miss the way it feels. I missed the sound of
You, and it’s grounding now, even though the words are heavy. I don’t understand. I want to. With the world outside shut out, I can
Almost grasp it. If I could cradle it in the palms of my hands, then maybe the difference would get lighter too, warm like sunshine.