02-11-2018, 05:21 PM
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain, And eyes squeezed shut ‘neath rusty mane; He knows a sense of loss, knows it like a deep well in his ribcage. Loss is a memory, imbued in his cells, in his blood, even if his mind cannot yet put names to the feeling, to the absences. But loss is familiar, an old friend, an integral part of him. But he doesn’t feel loss – or lost – right now. Right now, he feels found, he feels discovered, like she is unearthing parts of him that should be dead. It is a dangerous feeling, a drug-high, because it’s those feelings that lead – (I could keep you warm) Well. They are dangerous. She doesn’t flinch from his touch, and when he apologizes she refuses it. He sees now that he has fooled her, that she thinks him something worthwhile, and this is why she asks him not to apologize. She doesn’t know how his touch can poison. Or, how it once poisoned. “You deserve better,” he tells her, “not someone who barely knows who he is.” You could change, his worst self whispers, you could change for her and maybe it would be different this time maybe maybe maybe - The self loathing comes strong, a hideous tide, and he shrinks from her. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He’s so, so sorry. He moves away. He leaves behind the flowers. He leaves behind the woman he’s falling for, because he’s fallen so many goddamn times, and he isn’t yet ready to hit the ground. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain. |
(given that she's since quested i thought a time jump would be fun if you wanna start a new thread??? he'd love to see her again with her new aura and also with some time passing for him to Thoroughly Regret his poor life choices. hey and also i love them so much and your writing kills me with its prettiness)