The closer Christofer’s birthday comes, the less I think about him. I get through whole days without crying. It’s like my brain has put its blinders on. If I can’t see it, it can’t see me. Too bad that’s not how it works.
My logical mind says it’s just another day among many. But those blinders…they’re on for a reason. If I think the thought, it flies away quickly. Like right now, I’m already thinking about the rest of this post, tomorrow’s hair appointment, the busy weekend. Distraction that can’t quite pretend there’s nothing more nefarious going on.
Traegar’s Lunatics is now 33K words. I’m so in love. (first draft–don’t judge.)
Leaning low compressed lungs too weak to compensate, but Alfonse held his breath and did so. He kissed her brow. He kissed the fair princess’ cheek, and the monster’s. He dropped back in his chair, gasping. Cecibel opened her eyes, blue marbles, even, impossibly, the ruined one. The moment froze one heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. She was rising, towering over him. A wounded Valkyrie fresh from battle. Alfonse felt so small in that gaze. A withered old man who’d trespassed into places he didn’t belong, and couldn’t survive.
Cecibel’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. A swoop of hair dropped into his lap as she kissed his brow, his cheeks, his lips. She lingered there though he didn’t respond, couldn’t respond without breaking the spell. A thousand sweaty nights, languid afternoons, fresh mornings careened through his body, his brain. To pluck even one of them from the parade would undo him. Instead, his fingers curled into that hair pooled in his lap. He fingered it, concentrated on the thick softness Cecibel took with her when she pulled away.
He didn’t call her back. She didn’t glance over her shoulder. The metallic click of his door was the only indication that she was gone; he hoped, not for good.
Head back, eyes on the ceiling so high above his head, Alfonse counted breaths until he could do so calmly. He couldn’t have written the magic of these moments, not if given another century to try. Life could never be contained by words. It could only be expressed to the best of one’s ability, in the hopes of capturing a tiny spark and giving it away.
Busy weekend, starting with tomorrow’s hair appointment. Blue and purple this time. Really, my hair is still blue (baby blue, now) from when I did it around Halloween, but it’s grown out some. I’ve got a book signing on Saturday, and a writing group event on Sunday. I figure it’s time for a fresh-up.
Next Friday is Christofer’s birthday. So much distraction. I’ll be fine.