Wait.
More than anything, she wished to leap, but there, in front of her eyes, in bold tahoma font, "wait." stood against her milky flesh. She stared at it, soaking it in through her eyes, reliving the masochism involved, and saw her pulse beating through each letter. She wanted desperately to ignore her flesh. "Silly youth," she thought, "to think that I would know how I should live my life, when I had lived so little back then." Her present stirred in her a desire greater than her mantra, and thought she felt a shade of regret.
She was torn. Her advice had held through her life and loves before, although this time, her wish for submission to fate seemed to have finally died.
Wait.
She had. But this time, was it possible? Was it smart? Was it really what she wanted? Was it what she needed?
Each letter throbbed, danced in time with the beat of the music, rippling against her skin, her pulse in sync. She was lost in thought, but her mind, seemingly lost, returned to the surface when a hand, sliding out of hers, brushed around her wrist and settled on the very word which had stolen her into silence. Another arm around her waist, and for the first time in a while, she felt at home.
Covered with someone else's skin, out of sight, the word became less important than the present moment. She looked away from her wrist and up into the stars, to the endlessness beyond. She looked at history, and at the future, for with time everything will pass, and at last, she looked into the mindful eyes of the man who's arms had taken so easily to the contours of her body.
Wait.
She had. But now, tears dewing at her now downcast eyes, she at last understood fully the pain for all the years, stringing the tattoo with each broken heart. He wiped away each sparkling tear, though in that moment, he thought she could not be more beautiful.
With a sniff and a smile, she lifted her head, and was at last done waiting. Her everything was at last about to begin.
She was torn. Her advice had held through her life and loves before, although this time, her wish for submission to fate seemed to have finally died.
Wait.
She had. But this time, was it possible? Was it smart? Was it really what she wanted? Was it what she needed?
Each letter throbbed, danced in time with the beat of the music, rippling against her skin, her pulse in sync. She was lost in thought, but her mind, seemingly lost, returned to the surface when a hand, sliding out of hers, brushed around her wrist and settled on the very word which had stolen her into silence. Another arm around her waist, and for the first time in a while, she felt at home.
Covered with someone else's skin, out of sight, the word became less important than the present moment. She looked away from her wrist and up into the stars, to the endlessness beyond. She looked at history, and at the future, for with time everything will pass, and at last, she looked into the mindful eyes of the man who's arms had taken so easily to the contours of her body.
Wait.
She had. But now, tears dewing at her now downcast eyes, she at last understood fully the pain for all the years, stringing the tattoo with each broken heart. He wiped away each sparkling tear, though in that moment, he thought she could not be more beautiful.
With a sniff and a smile, she lifted her head, and was at last done waiting. Her everything was at last about to begin.