Blossomed Contusions
lavender
It was the color of the flowers that were delicately laced in her hair, stems wrapped around strands forming a disjointed crown. She always seemed to be wearing them no matter what season it was. Whenever she was asked how she got them, even in the dead of winter, she would just smile and wink, the secrets never leaving her lips.
It was the color of the faded bruises that he found around her wrists, slender in shape and wrapped all the way around her bony joints. She would pull down her sleeves and play with the hems, trying to hide everything underneath. Whenever she was asked how she got them, she would look down and smile sadly, one that didn’t reach her eyes, the secrets never leaving her lips.
It was the color of the marks patterning her neck, round and speckled and outlined with passion. She would cover them with her hand, fingers tracing lazily, in a half-hearted attempt to hide them. Whenever she was asked how she got them, she would wrap her fingers in his hair and smile, every secret slipping between their lips.
It was the color of the faded bruises that he found around her wrists, slender in shape and wrapped all the way around her bony joints. She would pull down her sleeves and play with the hems, trying to hide everything underneath. Whenever she was asked how she got them, she would look down and smile sadly, one that didn’t reach her eyes, the secrets never leaving her lips.
It was the color of the marks patterning her neck, round and speckled and outlined with passion. She would cover them with her hand, fingers tracing lazily, in a half-hearted attempt to hide them. Whenever she was asked how she got them, she would wrap her fingers in his hair and smile, every secret slipping between their lips.