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(via kenzierosaline)

Chicago & Franklin

Maybe we should play fast and loose with our hearts; perhaps we must take the risks we aren’t taking: clutch autumn wild flowers in our trembling fingers and offer them—a curl of ivy unfurling from somewhere deep inside of us—to those that could as easily pull us into the light of a sunny November day as crush us. How will we know if we take no risks?

Bones Beneath Her Skin, deux

Jill came with Chicago’s Indian summer: lush, blushing and ripe like a late summer’s peach, letting sunlight stream in behind her. She tripped up the creaking stairs of Molly Malone’s boarding house, a cardboard box sending loose slender arms and elbows like lonely and distant hills out at sharp angles and this is where Sam first caught her. She paused before 2E and jostled the box (meticulously labeled “Philosophy: Classic” in a infinitely precise hand) against the blade of her hip and the peeling, yellowing wallpaper that wrapped up the boarding house like a forgotten gift. 

He didn’t offer to help her with her burden, but rather clutched his keys tight in his hand until the bite of the metal teeth against the flesh of his palm stayed him. Here before him, fiddling with her own ring of keys was a mystery—a creature not of this world, though whether angelic or demonic he would never know. As she wrestled with her load, he tried in vain to pull apart the divine draw that had set him to her immediately, had made his heart pound the ache of a heathen’s devotion: fierce, wild and consuming. But, as she tried key after key, first brass, then silver, he could not know her, could make no sense of the magic that coursed through the web of veins that climbed up her arms like tendrils of ivy beneath the veil of her cream-clear skin. He could put no myth to the constellation of freckles that swept across her cheeks, nor find the hymn’s refrain dedicated to the lithe line of her body or the curl of her spine. 

Finally, the key was found and the door thrown open; the too long barren room opened to her with yearning. Sunlight poured forth the room and into the hallway, splashed across the floorboards that creaked and washed up to him. And then she looked up at him for the first time, blinked wide blue-grey eyes and the freckles spilled across her cheeks danced as a smile flooded her face, rearranged skin and bone and sinew until all he saw was her and the mystery that was beauty beyond the roll of her joints and the tendrils of veins scaling her arms. His heart seized, his shoulders pinched together tightly and in an instant, he was gone, stumbling free from the boarding house and into the hot, heavy air of late August and he drank of it greedily, welcomingly.

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