Novanuhea123
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two shadows intertwined
❝forever is a long time❞
Two shadows, intertwined.
That’s what we were.
Two of us, intertwined, the moment we saw each other’s eyes; your blue ones, ocean-like, and mine rich brown.
We grew up together.
I saw your hair, your tiny head of poofy blonde hair at the park. Sea eyes wide, shiny, following the soccer ball. Content and alone, your back to the wall. Just watching.
I was the energetic one. I’d pounce and raise my arms to the sky and I’d jump and practically fly. Something in my body was always moving. But you were silent, peaceful, more so than any other girl I’d ever seen in my life. I was mesmerized by your calmness. I walked up to you and lowered myself to the ground. And for the first time in my life, I was quiet, still.
You looked over at me and giggled. A tiny sound, escaping like bubbles.
I giggled, another tiny sound. I tapped your shoulder softly with my tiny fingers.
“Come play,” I said. You followed me. Your hands grasped for mine. Something formed between us, like a rope knot. It tightened the second you touched me, a knot that would never come loose. Two of us, intertwined. Our shadows, spilling on the ground.
Our shadows have never been apart since.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
“Come play,” you whispered, a smile on your face, the same way a sunflower beams at the sun. Your hair was shoulder-length now, years later, and it had grown to ringlets.
I reached for your fingers and let you pull me outside. I’d let you pull me anywhere, I knew that even then. I’d let you pull me anywhere even with my eyes closed and hands tied.
We squealed at the flying birds with the midnight captured in their wings, at the airplanes that left ribbons of white in its wake.
I taught you to raise your hands up to the sky. I taught you to scream, I taught you to depend on people. I taught you to fly.
You taught me to sit. You taught me to stay long enough to see my name in the stars, to see the wisps of clouds. You taught me to listen, to watch, to be.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
Your clear rings of laughter echoed through the hallways of middle school. Your hair rippled down your back in rolling ocean waves.
I noticed your sea eyes were dulling with the weight of burdens. They shone like diamonds with tears, diamonds that carried sadness in them.
I grasped for your hand and offered you a small smile. I saw the whispers of sad begin to fade away with every step we took together. You knew I’d be there. Our hands were still intertwined, our shadows on the ground.
Secret notes passed to each other, silent giggles and expressions across the room, even as we began to be pushed apart by other people. Other people who marched into our lives.
I still remembered you, though. I found you again.
We shared food at lunch.
New friends, new classes, but the two of us were still together.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
You let me cry onto your shoulder that day. That day when the world shattered into glass pieces. When someone broke me into glass pieces, treated me like a porcelain doll.
But you were there, even though you’d suffered worse. Your ocean eyes told me the way the world burdened on your shoulders. But you sat by me, thinking of me. Only me.
You let me cry onto your shoulder that day. I let you cry on mine. Your waist-length ringlets, mine a pixie cut. Your ocean eyes sparkled the same way. Never changing.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Being 17 is hard.”
“It’s okay,” I repeated quietly.
I looked at you and realized that a whisper of a smile had made its way onto my face. The kind of smile only you could pull out of me.
I saw you smile too. I could see the shadows of the same sunflower-smile in it from when we were younger.
I’d be okay. I had you there.
Our fingers laced, our shadows intertwined.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
Only years later, we had to say goodbye.
“Don’t leave,” I whispered, anguish in my voice.
You turned to look west. “I have to.”
We both knew you had to. We both knew we had to rip our shadows apart one day. Would they bleed? Would it break us?
Your car shimmered like the tears in your sea eyes as you stared at me. You would be hours and days away.
My hand, reached out for yours.
You touched mine, slowly, slowly, slowly.
Our fingers curled around each other, like a flower’s petals.
Our shadows spilled on the ground.
“I’ll call you every day,” you said.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I will too.”
Tears began to block my vision, leaving only blurry dots. There was a small smile on my face, shadows of sunflowers.
Our shadows broke apart for the first time in twenty years.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
You’re not here in front of me now. Your laugh rings not as clearly anymore, muffled because of my phone.
You reach out towards the camera, a bittersweet smile unfolding.
All those years, the two of us. I was lost before I met you. I found myself because of you.
I reach out to you. I need you. I know I’m nobody without you. You’re nobody without me.
Two shadows, intertwined. We’d be intertwined forever, even if you kept us universes apart.
Two shadows, intertwined.
Two shadows, intertwined.
❝forever is a long time❞
Two shadows, intertwined.
That’s what we were.
Two of us, intertwined, the moment we saw each other’s eyes; your blue ones, ocean-like, and mine rich brown.
We grew up together.
I saw your hair, your tiny head of poofy blonde hair at the park. Sea eyes wide, shiny, following the soccer ball. Content and alone, your back to the wall. Just watching.
I was the energetic one. I’d pounce and raise my arms to the sky and I’d jump and practically fly. Something in my body was always moving. But you were silent, peaceful, more so than any other girl I’d ever seen in my life. I was mesmerized by your calmness. I walked up to you and lowered myself to the ground. And for the first time in my life, I was quiet, still.
You looked over at me and giggled. A tiny sound, escaping like bubbles.
I giggled, another tiny sound. I tapped your shoulder softly with my tiny fingers.
“Come play,” I said. You followed me. Your hands grasped for mine. Something formed between us, like a rope knot. It tightened the second you touched me, a knot that would never come loose. Two of us, intertwined. Our shadows, spilling on the ground.
Our shadows have never been apart since.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
“Come play,” you whispered, a smile on your face, the same way a sunflower beams at the sun. Your hair was shoulder-length now, years later, and it had grown to ringlets.
I reached for your fingers and let you pull me outside. I’d let you pull me anywhere, I knew that even then. I’d let you pull me anywhere even with my eyes closed and hands tied.
We squealed at the flying birds with the midnight captured in their wings, at the airplanes that left ribbons of white in its wake.
I taught you to raise your hands up to the sky. I taught you to scream, I taught you to depend on people. I taught you to fly.
You taught me to sit. You taught me to stay long enough to see my name in the stars, to see the wisps of clouds. You taught me to listen, to watch, to be.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
Your clear rings of laughter echoed through the hallways of middle school. Your hair rippled down your back in rolling ocean waves.
I noticed your sea eyes were dulling with the weight of burdens. They shone like diamonds with tears, diamonds that carried sadness in them.
I grasped for your hand and offered you a small smile. I saw the whispers of sad begin to fade away with every step we took together. You knew I’d be there. Our hands were still intertwined, our shadows on the ground.
Secret notes passed to each other, silent giggles and expressions across the room, even as we began to be pushed apart by other people. Other people who marched into our lives.
I still remembered you, though. I found you again.
We shared food at lunch.
New friends, new classes, but the two of us were still together.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
You let me cry onto your shoulder that day. That day when the world shattered into glass pieces. When someone broke me into glass pieces, treated me like a porcelain doll.
But you were there, even though you’d suffered worse. Your ocean eyes told me the way the world burdened on your shoulders. But you sat by me, thinking of me. Only me.
You let me cry onto your shoulder that day. I let you cry on mine. Your waist-length ringlets, mine a pixie cut. Your ocean eyes sparkled the same way. Never changing.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Being 17 is hard.”
“It’s okay,” I repeated quietly.
I looked at you and realized that a whisper of a smile had made its way onto my face. The kind of smile only you could pull out of me.
I saw you smile too. I could see the shadows of the same sunflower-smile in it from when we were younger.
I’d be okay. I had you there.
Our fingers laced, our shadows intertwined.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
Only years later, we had to say goodbye.
“Don’t leave,” I whispered, anguish in my voice.
You turned to look west. “I have to.”
We both knew you had to. We both knew we had to rip our shadows apart one day. Would they bleed? Would it break us?
Your car shimmered like the tears in your sea eyes as you stared at me. You would be hours and days away.
My hand, reached out for yours.
You touched mine, slowly, slowly, slowly.
Our fingers curled around each other, like a flower’s petals.
Our shadows spilled on the ground.
“I’ll call you every day,” you said.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I will too.”
Tears began to block my vision, leaving only blurry dots. There was a small smile on my face, shadows of sunflowers.
Our shadows broke apart for the first time in twenty years.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»
You’re not here in front of me now. Your laugh rings not as clearly anymore, muffled because of my phone.
You reach out towards the camera, a bittersweet smile unfolding.
All those years, the two of us. I was lost before I met you. I found myself because of you.
I reach out to you. I need you. I know I’m nobody without you. You’re nobody without me.
Two shadows, intertwined. We’d be intertwined forever, even if you kept us universes apart.
Two shadows, intertwined.
Two shadows, intertwined.