one day they will be as giants stronger than the sun, but that day ain’t yet come

Maryanne knew how to wear makeup, but had an exquisite art of putting on her make up so perfectly, that it wouldn’t matter if she only had dirt and mud to work with. She had a frightening beauty. And Marcus, the boy from across the pond who’d always been treated as if he, himself, insisted on being born, dissuading all arguments of morality, religion, reason, and even some of his best friends, was the one walking her home that evening. They arrived at her gate, covered in brightly lit vines that seemed to pulse to his heartbeat and an orchestra of crickets chirping the symphony of her glory. She gave him a nod, kissed him on his sooty cheek, and left through her gate. For the brief moment her lips touched his skin, everything seemed to slow down, as if he had willed her kiss to last longer, allowing Marcus to savor every microsecond. He even thought the crickets stopped. But Maryanne had to leave through those gates, lives were woven by these partings and meetings, big and small. There he stood, watching her sea-blue dress disappear behind the vines, or perhaps it was royal blue, colors seemed to change every time he thought of that moment, seeing her in hundreds of shades and a hearing a hundred symphonies via crickets, and a hundred painful kisses goodbye. He never had the chance to have one week’s worth of company in her world, yet Marcus could only find his smitten mind dancing months around the bliss of having her with him till death did them part. That was then, when he knew absolutely nothing. It was impossible for him to know how far her soul would weave into his.
The creature that came from across the pond that turned young Marcus into the man he is, came back to wound him with affection. She honestly wanted to be stopped and the more Marcus resisted, the fonder Maryanne became, almost with an admiration to his strength. The dead fact was, everything Marcus did, was inspired by her, but the anguish she dealt him only made him more stubborn to confess. Anything good that was in him buried beneath the despair, belonged to her. They both knew this, but decided to speak better in consumptions of tea and cigarettes, many years later.


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