[ she was taught how to swim before she knew how to walk.
the sea is quiet in its embrace; she learned the movement of currents, grown accustomed to the gentle and steady pressure of it the further she dove, and warned against its flightier tendencies when the moon swells and ebbs. there's hardly any need to talk during the migration, and for the longest time she had been silent, placing her trust in the tide. but that was her earliest memory -- these days, she recalls a richer sound that pierces the silence, that coaxed her to the surface. a voice that inspired her to trust herself instead, to believe in the legs that pushed her forward and not just the waves that buoyed her up. the sea can only take you so far, she'd said. the rest is all you.
it's been fifteen years since she last saw khara. many things have changed since then, but she supposes some things don't. koko found her through her song again, something slower and deeper, smoother now with age and practice. despite the years, khara's voice always managed to make her pause no matter where she's going, and in many ways koko figures it was a blessing. khara had taken her soaking hands in hers and showed her the steadiness of land, the gentleness to its solidity. her voice guides her in the silence; she fills the negative space.
but it's been fifteen years, and being with khara again feels both like coming home and rediscovering all the hidden nooks and passageways. things are the same yet also different -- they've both grown over the years in more than just appearance. and while koko is thankful that they are able to get along like they've been apart for a mere fifteen days instead of years, there's still a subtle sort of distance that makes itself known on occasion. there's something a little darker beneath khara's smiles, a dimmer light when koko catches her looking out over the sea, and sometimes she wonders if maybe she should ask about it or let it be. khara never liked to be pushed and koko doesn't like pushing, opting to go with the flow (hah) instead.
but maybe one day they'll sit down on a quiet night and koko will gently test the waters, to hear the story of khara's travels during those long fifteen years. or maybe they won't and she'll let it be. sometimes, it's better to look towards the future instead. ]
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wings it
the sea is quiet in its embrace; she learned the movement of currents, grown accustomed to the gentle and steady pressure of it the further she dove, and warned against its flightier tendencies when the moon swells and ebbs. there's hardly any need to talk during the migration, and for the longest time she had been silent, placing her trust in the tide. but that was her earliest memory -- these days, she recalls a richer sound that pierces the silence, that coaxed her to the surface. a voice that inspired her to trust herself instead, to believe in the legs that pushed her forward and not just the waves that buoyed her up. the sea can only take you so far, she'd said. the rest is all you.
it's been fifteen years since she last saw khara. many things have changed since then, but she supposes some things don't. koko found her through her song again, something slower and deeper, smoother now with age and practice. despite the years, khara's voice always managed to make her pause no matter where she's going, and in many ways koko figures it was a blessing. khara had taken her soaking hands in hers and showed her the steadiness of land, the gentleness to its solidity. her voice guides her in the silence; she fills the negative space.
but it's been fifteen years, and being with khara again feels both like coming home and rediscovering all the hidden nooks and passageways. things are the same yet also different -- they've both grown over the years in more than just appearance. and while koko is thankful that they are able to get along like they've been apart for a mere fifteen days instead of years, there's still a subtle sort of distance that makes itself known on occasion. there's something a little darker beneath khara's smiles, a dimmer light when koko catches her looking out over the sea, and sometimes she wonders if maybe she should ask about it or let it be. khara never liked to be pushed and koko doesn't like pushing, opting to go with the flow (hah) instead.
but maybe one day they'll sit down on a quiet night and koko will gently test the waters, to hear the story of khara's travels during those long fifteen years. or maybe they won't and she'll let it be. sometimes, it's better to look towards the future instead. ]
falls to knees and cries.... i've missed you
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