Wapun Meadow broke my own limb and blamed you for the limp

because you are you
she plays it over and over inside her head, that statement; to silvertongue, it was only a passive endearment, but to wren it was as if all of the pain, all of the long grueling days and nights edged with static were worth it. the scars she bore both beneath her skin and along the surface were worth it. the bags under her eyes, the moons she spent sleeping alone;
all of it had led her to silvertongue, and she decides then and there that she would do it all over again in every lifetime so long as they embraced by the end.
we should get home, home, their home, her home; because it was hers, it was theirs. butterfly kisses dot silvertongue's eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her forehead. i miss our bed.