(no subject)
This is a place where she could start to forget herself.
Not in the bad, destroyer of the universe sort of way, but in the vacation, sun on her face, sand beneath her toes way. It’s the ocean breeze, the salt, the excess of mango and tropical everything that when coupled with the solitude in her head makes this place feel like heaven. There are people who can and have answered her questions, who are friendly and whose brains she can pick the old fashioned way, the normal way and it makes her feel alive. It’s indescribable and it’s terrifying and deep inside she can feel part of her thrashing against the powerlessness that she feels.
None of that matters though. Having her metaphorical wings clipped is doing her a lot more good than harm.
Legs folded, she’s sitting on a blanket spread across the sand, sunscreen carefully applied on her bare shoulders and legs. The wind tugs at the strands of her hair that have escaped her braids and when it gets too hot again she’ll give in to temptation and jump into the water that she can hear, but can’t see. For now, her eyes are closed and her breathing has slowed to gentle rhythm, in and out, in and out. There’s laughter in the distance, melting in with the waves and the cry of a bird over head.
This is what peace feels like. It’s sweet and it’s nice and it doesn’t need to be the calm before any sort of storm. At not any sort that Jean is responsible for.
Eyes still closed behind her sunglasses, she smiles, as if laughing at her own private twisted joke.
Not in the bad, destroyer of the universe sort of way, but in the vacation, sun on her face, sand beneath her toes way. It’s the ocean breeze, the salt, the excess of mango and tropical everything that when coupled with the solitude in her head makes this place feel like heaven. There are people who can and have answered her questions, who are friendly and whose brains she can pick the old fashioned way, the normal way and it makes her feel alive. It’s indescribable and it’s terrifying and deep inside she can feel part of her thrashing against the powerlessness that she feels.
None of that matters though. Having her metaphorical wings clipped is doing her a lot more good than harm.
Legs folded, she’s sitting on a blanket spread across the sand, sunscreen carefully applied on her bare shoulders and legs. The wind tugs at the strands of her hair that have escaped her braids and when it gets too hot again she’ll give in to temptation and jump into the water that she can hear, but can’t see. For now, her eyes are closed and her breathing has slowed to gentle rhythm, in and out, in and out. There’s laughter in the distance, melting in with the waves and the cry of a bird over head.
This is what peace feels like. It’s sweet and it’s nice and it doesn’t need to be the calm before any sort of storm. At not any sort that Jean is responsible for.
Eyes still closed behind her sunglasses, she smiles, as if laughing at her own private twisted joke.