What she sees, a lucid mind would piece together. What she knows, the same mind would evaluate. What she assumes, a cool head would rationalise. But she does not have a lucid mind nor sane thought, not even a cool head - despite the dripping locks, and droplets of river water massaging her skin, her mood becomes hot and the wiring in her brain begins to arc .
The teenager embraces him, brown arms clinging as if it is her last moment on earth, desperation and sadness filling her once bright eyes. She falls to her knees, her hands dragging from his chest, face leaning into his thigh before he gently pulls her upwards and kisses her; wraps her in his embrace.
Posted for The Tenth Daughter of Memory Under The Water's Surface, Heartbreak; The War That Follows