Foggy Bottom Way [m] las estrellas

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: suicidal ideation

had she known, oh, had she known that this emotion passed through crowfeather at all, silvertongue would gladly have died that very moment with his image in her eyes and her heart stilled rather than suffer living though such a concept. but she could not know, could not — what silvertongue did know was his gait, his tread; was that him upon the wind? cracked lips formed a plea; "take me home," begging while tears chased themselves backward to puddle hotly along her temples, "take me home to our children." 

***

she shut her eyes, not knowing if she imagined him or if the steady harvest-moon gaze was true. turning tearstained face, silvertongue tried to will this figure of him closer; but she knew, she knew, she knew; why did he not come to her? "i want to go home!" she screamed at the spectre with the last of her fury, an exhale dropping her thin shoulders back into the dust. 

***

wren. it is better this way. it is a sentence so cliched. so rote. it is a story too often told. a man who stands between women. i cannot let this be our story. i cannot let our love belong to anyone but us. he would always be between us, wren, amante. always there, because it is where i have put him. i pull your face into my mind. i dance with you as i have never danced with him.

***

silvertongue wavered between consciousness and void. she would not die now; her body would fiercely sustain her even if she laid against this ground for days. a wish was not reality. the glassblue eyes were veiled and now silvertongue lay in silence upon the ground, staring at grains of sand lifting in a hot zephyr.

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