The enormity of my desire disgusts me; pollock

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever They could not love him when they themselves came from such tragedies. He knows his parents’ lives in pieces – the stories of their scars told in what they said (and what they didn’t). He knows their world is small and strange and there is little place for him. Sometimes this makes him sad and he wonders. He doesn’t have any scars. He doesn’t have any stories – simply the day when he tumbled into existence, slick and strange, and the days since. But those days are meaningless, hours of milk and a taste of new grass, learning to run beneath a desert sky too big for the world. So he’s here, and maybe it’s for a story and maybe it’s just because he never really liked the desert, anyway. (He dreams of their scars. The way his mother’s face twists from where she was torn from her twin. The way his father’s shoulders bear wounds that never seem to heal.) Somewhere, there is a noise, a twist of the wind. He hears something – someone – breathing. He holds his own breath. His heart speeds up, but inside his mind fear and excitement are so tangled up he doesn’t know which is which. You should not be here alone, boy. The voice is cracked somehow, broken, it is not the quiet dulcet tones of his parents. It is not the distant murmur of other horses he walks by. No, the voice is close in its brokenness, intimate in his ears. “Why not?” he asks, because he is not a particularly bright boy, and he doesn’t know fear the way he should. “Besides,” he continues, “you’re here. I’m not alone.” rapt caius x else

I didn't know if he was still invisible or not so keepin it vague