a / n; I have recently become a (somewhat begrudging) member of the unemployed. And though I don't have much free time, I have more than I did, so what I have I give to you. Let it not be said that I am not for the people. ;) Also, apologies for the disjointedness. I've had these bits and pieces floating around forever and have grown frustrated with trying to connect them prettily, but they have a vague flow to them, no?
an anthem for the lovers lost
dead lovers salivate
broken hearts tessellate, tonight
- Tessellate, Tokyo Police Club
He hates the way they talk about her like she's dead—past tense and sympathetic smiles; hates the way they look at him as if he's lost something, because he hasn't, not really, except maybe on new moon nights when the skies are dark and he can only sulk and hope to settle easily into sleep.
: - :
Sometimes his loneliness is bone deep and sometimes it isn't and sometimes he almost believes them and sometimes he wishes he were Aang, who told him once he sees her on occasion, gliding through the hazy forests and insubstantial seas of the spirit world, all moon and all person simultaneously.
And Aang never says so, but he thinks she's dressed in pearlescent white, like glaciers refracting the light, with a hand to her lips and a small smile on her face as she watches two worlds move underneath her feet.
Or, at least that's how he dreams of her when he isn't remembering the feeling of ghostly lips against his skin like a promise-apology-goodbye.
: - :
He hates the way they talk about her—softly and solemnly like smoke from incense curling in the atmosphere, like she's never coming back.
But Sokka sees her wax and wan, and silently resents his feelings of contradiction, of being watched and being abandoned.
: - :
But tonight the world is still and the moon is whole and glinting gently above him, and he smiles, wistful and world weary.