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[16 Aug 2004|08:47am] |
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I've been back at my loft now for nearly a week. It's strange to be alone again, but I realized that, no matter what he said, I couldn't impose on Orlando any longer. And though I love my home, I miss the close comfort of my room at Orlando's house. I miss waking up to find him sprawled uncomfortably in the chair next to my bed.
I miss being taken care of.
I miss Orlando. That's the heart of it.
I'm not sure if he knows this or not, but I brought home one of his blankets. It smells like him. Like his garden. Like the fragrant air that surrounds the whole place.
I've got that same blanket wrapped around me as I lay in bed, fighting waking up from an afternoon nap. I hear the sound of the mail slot opening and closing; the soft metalic click of the flap shutting and the hush of envelopes sliding onto the hard wood floors. Stretching a little, I sit up, keeping the blanket around me as I go to collect the post. The soft material slips off my shoulder as I bend over to pick up the one small envelope that lays on the floor.
I examine the front - I don't recognize the handwriting until I open the letter and pull out the sheet of paper. There are only two words written on it, but those two words are enough to shock me entirely.
I'm alive.
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(Wish upon a star...)
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[16 Jun 2004|07:56pm] |
A leaf and limb filtered sunshine spilled in through the curtainless window of Sarah's room. She felt it first at sunrise, the light slipping over where her feet were, making a slow crawl up her legs, to her stomach and finally lighting upon her cheek. Finally acquiesing, Sarah stretched gingerly, a small yawn escaping as she did. She turned onto her other side, bunching the soft pillow under her head and blinking, startled for a moment at the sleeping figure of a man in the chair next to her bed. It took a moment for Sarah to recall where she was, but looking around the bedroom Orlando had made up for her, she realized it was he who dozed sentry next to her.
Sarah had been in his care for nearly a week now. She was allowed only to rest and recover and she had had countless conversations, he gently probing into her history, her heart, her life and she slowly learning how to trust that he would not hurt her - in any manner of the word.
Sarah was healing, however slow that process was.
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(Wish upon a star...)
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[22 Apr 2004|04:42pm] |
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There's a chaise lounge in the atrium at Sarah's Hope. It's what she calls her home, Sarah's Hope. She supposes on some level that it is vain of her to do so, but it's not information that she shares with anyone so she doesn't fear judgement.
Her hair is pulled up into a wispy twist, freed curls trickling down at her ears, her forehead, the nape of her neck. She brings a large sketchpad with her and a tray of charcoals, making herself comfortable in the chaise and flipping to a fresh page.
Effortlessly, Sarah sketches faces, profiles and front views, of the new people she's met. Both Seans, though the nuances escape her for the time being, Orlando, Viggo. Every one of them gracious and funny and bright and charming.
And fleeting for her.
Sarah can feel herself retreated back to her sanctuary, back to Sarah's Hope. It isn't good to let people in, she reminds herself, shading Orlando's features. It only leads to closing doors in the end. Take refuge in your hope, in your sanctuary. The world will turn without you in it's pastures.
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(Wish upon a star...)
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[18 Apr 2004|10:08pm] |
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Sarah was in bed, leaning back against a pile of soft pillows and reading a book quietly. It was late, which is why she was so surprised to look up from her page and see Orlando standing in her room.
( Dreams were all I ever knew )
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(Wish upon a star...)
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