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mistkittBack story for Lucky Us, which won’t be updated for a while due to schoolwork I can’t seem to get right.
~*~
When she thinks of him, she thinks of space.
Outer space. Solar systems. Galaxies. Asteroids.
A vast expanse of nothing that, to the naked eye, appears full.
~
It’s the sunlight she likes best.
She throws her arms out and spins, one full rotation. The apartment whirls past her: stainless steel kitchen, exposed brick wall, abstract art prints, a canvas set up on a tarp, television, tangerine sofa.
But it’s the sunlight that leaves its impression. It’s the sun that gives life.
~
She thinks of space.
For example, the complete and utter lack of it on certain nights. The inches that separate them as they walk down the street. The feet between them as they work, each lost in their creative minds. The blocks when he’s home and she’s at the bakery.
For example, the way they can read each other’s minds sometimes. How they crave the same foods without mentioning it to one another. How their hearts beat in perfect sync.
It all looked so full.
~
They were a solar system, the two of them.
Orbiting a star called love.
It was love that fed her designs, love that warmed her mind and coaxed her seedlings to sprout.
It was love towards which they grew.
~
She learned in one science class or another that things have a habit of leaving their orbits. Gravity weakens. The universe expands.
Who left first, then—him, or her?
~
Her best friend: “Him, obviously.”
But he wasn’t the one being swallowed by darkness.
~
She thinks of space.
For example, the distance from his voice to the meaning of the words he speaks. The miles that separate his gaze from hers. His body, light years away.
The vast expanse of nothing between their hearts that looked so fucking full.
~
Without light, nothing grows.
Without love, nothing grows.
She can’t bear to ask herself where all this nothing came from.
~
In the end she leaves without saying a word.
(Because in space, no one can hear you scream.)
