Natalia Kapitonova from Russian Nationals UB final.
She’s coming back from injury/growth spurt, but this is seriously gorgeous. I think I need to start really liking her, at least on bars. Beautiful swing, beautiful rhythm, beautiful lines, beautiful handstands, beautiful feet… I feel like her growth spurt actually works in her advantage here, and once she gets the tiny errors and the front giant (I wish she would finally learn an actual elite front skill) fixed, this is going to be world class.
If poetry could amend my visage;
Its rhythm melt away a dozen years,
Allowing prose or rhyme power to bridge
The chasm twixt concupiscence and fear,
I would dedicate my verses for thee;
Endeavouring ever to coax your smile
With little songs proclaiming its beauty –
Confessions composed in a heart beguiled.
But, cursed by time, what words can I bestow
That might defy fortune and win thy kiss?
Lady; you make me more fool than poet;
Courting doom as age mocks my search for bliss.
Oh, Muse; goddess of creativity;
Thy grace shall achieve immortality.
1. put your wishes inside the soft flesh of your cheeks. chew them all in little seeds and push them between your teeth with your tongue. water them. wait until they grow. when you smile a garden glints in your mouth.
2. braid flowers in your sister’s hair. wind the petals around her strains, one by one. weave stories into each strand until she falls asleep to your hushed whispers. marvel at her beauty in rhythm to her sleeping breaths. you don’t tell. she doesn’t need to know.
3. lay in bed and count the stars. watch them grow and shine on the black blanket over your head. whisper your secrets into your sister’s spine. then into her collarbone. watch her curl around your fragile body. she loves how your words tickle between her bones.
They walk slow, unhurried, and they talk about everything, the earth and the glaciers and themselves, little bits and pieces. Harry finds himself falling open, caving in like the crevices that run like cold veins from the icy lakes. It feels strange to talk this way. He feels like he should be having this conversation hidden under his covers, whispering in the dark. It feels like the kind of talk that means too much, that means trust and revealing the small things that make up the bigger ones, except they’re both barely blinking an eye. -
Harry is a WWF journalist with big dreams and Louis is a glaciologist that flies helicopters for fun. Greenland is an odd place to spend Christmas, but just maybe, the perfect place to fall headfirst into love. (40k)