Ache
&itwasbeautiful
“—a while.”
She couldn’t help but entertain a pang of jealousy, partly because the bride was beautiful in a manner that a woman like her, all tact and minimal grace, could never keep up with, and her wedding was beautiful, while she never had one.
Before she could even ponder whose fault it was, the bride finally reached the altar and her stare landed upon the ones who stood there: a priest, the groom with his recognizable shock of blond-brown hair, and…
Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and in her chest her heart yearned.
She didn’t, couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the ceremony, unable to tear away from the way his onyx hair brushed his collar, exposing a bit of the skin at his nape; the expanse of his shoulders, and the pride with which he held them.
It ended, like any other wedding, with a kiss, and when people began to rise up and clap and cheer some, she took it as a signal to walk away before she even meets him. She feared she wouldn’t have the courage to depart when, if she does. She’d have to write a letter of apology to the groom for not congratulating him in person.
But it just wasn’t meant to be, as someone recognized her, and everyone else did after that. They pulled her along with them to the reception, and she’d forgotten just how much she missed this, missed them.
They had left her momentarily for the dance floor, while she opted to watch contentedly, when suddenly, he was there and she didn’t even see it coming.
He had grown slightly older, and so did she, but everything else was the same. The smirk on pale features, one hand in his pocket while the other was offered to her, and his eyes, like midnight before dawn, twinkling like the stars that shone brighter, clearer, in the country skies…
He doesn’t speak, only waits, and she realizes that he has been waiting all along.
She stands up, and there is the sting of tears beneath her lids, but it’s a good sting, and he takes her palm, pressing it to his lips, before putting it against his heart.
“Far away, for far too long.” The smirk becomes a patient smile, softness like candle fire ghosting harmlessly between her fingers. “Almost sounds like a song.”
His voice pushes her over the edge, and she cannot help but throw her arms around him like she did, once, the first time she thought she’d really lost him, and how many times had she lost him after that? She has never been one to explicitly show emotion, so right now she is desperate to tell him, to show him, just how he makes her feel, but she’s failing, reduced to shudders and smudged mascara.
He holds her tighter to him, and whispers with a gentleness she didn’t know he had.
“I know, I know, we have to make up for lost time.
“It’s been—
She couldn’t help but entertain a pang of jealousy, partly because the bride was beautiful in a manner that a woman like her, all tact and minimal grace, could never keep up with, and her wedding was beautiful, while she never had one.
Before she could even ponder whose fault it was, the bride finally reached the altar and her stare landed upon the ones who stood there: a priest, the groom with his recognizable shock of blond-brown hair, and…
Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and in her chest her heart yearned.
She didn’t, couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the ceremony, unable to tear away from the way his onyx hair brushed his collar, exposing a bit of the skin at his nape; the expanse of his shoulders, and the pride with which he held them.
It ended, like any other wedding, with a kiss, and when people began to rise up and clap and cheer some, she took it as a signal to walk away before she even meets him. She feared she wouldn’t have the courage to depart when, if she does. She’d have to write a letter of apology to the groom for not congratulating him in person.
But it just wasn’t meant to be, as someone recognized her, and everyone else did after that. They pulled her along with them to the reception, and she’d forgotten just how much she missed this, missed them.
They had left her momentarily for the dance floor, while she opted to watch contentedly, when suddenly, he was there and she didn’t even see it coming.
He had grown slightly older, and so did she, but everything else was the same. The smirk on pale features, one hand in his pocket while the other was offered to her, and his eyes, like midnight before dawn, twinkling like the stars that shone brighter, clearer, in the country skies…
He doesn’t speak, only waits, and she realizes that he has been waiting all along.
She stands up, and there is the sting of tears beneath her lids, but it’s a good sting, and he takes her palm, pressing it to his lips, before putting it against his heart.
“Far away, for far too long.” The smirk becomes a patient smile, softness like candle fire ghosting harmlessly between her fingers. “Almost sounds like a song.”
His voice pushes her over the edge, and she cannot help but throw her arms around him like she did, once, the first time she thought she’d really lost him, and how many times had she lost him after that? She has never been one to explicitly show emotion, so right now she is desperate to tell him, to show him, just how he makes her feel, but she’s failing, reduced to shudders and smudged mascara.
He holds her tighter to him, and whispers with a gentleness she didn’t know he had.
“I know, I know, we have to make up for lost time.
“It’s been—
♠ ♠ ♠
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