(Untitled)

[mute_clay]

I keep dreaming.

It's a bad dream.

A butterfly. If you take the dust from its wings, it can't fly anymore. And then it dies. Their lives are short enough as it is. Why would anybody ...?

Things in dreams are not what they are like in reality.

I would call her my butterfly sometimes. My beautiful golden butterfly. She would dance in circles

Comments

[jon_r_meyers]

I hope you're right. I hope so fucking much that you're right.

[mute_clay]

I am.

[jon_r_meyers]

*hugs tight*

It's not making sense to me, but... I believe you. I want to. I have to.

[mute_clay]

When I went away - she'd wait for me. She'd call and I would hear her. I would know if -

She should have come home. But I would know.

[caraghdelaluna]

*smiles a little* Yes. That's beautiful. But it's also true. Yes.

You can -- you know. If you want to -- I don't know, get a drink, or just -- not be alone. I'm here. *smiles, self-consciously* But you know that. Right?

[mute_clay]

*looks away, then back at her*

Thank you.

*it's visible in his eyes - that he isn't as certain as he wants to be*

[caraghdelaluna]

*squeezes his hand briefly*

Hope is -- it's strange. It's strange, and it's small. But that doesn't make it wrong or useless.

No yellow flowers for her. Not yet.

[aragorn_tm]

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring

The words were written for me, but I give them to her you as you seem to need them more than I do now *reaches out for a quick fierce hug*

[mute_clay]

*hugs back*

Thank you

*nods a little, thinking of strong roots and golden sunlight*

[orlandomuse]

Clay? Can I help?

[mute_clay]

I don't know.

I _hate_ it when I can't -

I don't know what to do.

[orlandomuse]

I know you feel helpless. Are you absolutely sure it happened?

[wild_callie]

*fangirls*