oh, this my weapon, this my loam. this my blood, this my bone.
If only he could unravel all of the pieces of her to fully understand them. If only he could hold onto it for long enough to study them, to comprehend them, to take her into himself and hold onto them forever. But she is like the wind and she passes right through him. It is frustrating, and he doesn’t have the words to explain just how frustrating it is, so instead he grows nearly sullen, the storms in his eyes intensifying.
But she smiles and the anger that rages in him—this fury of all he wants to do and know but cannot—releases, leaving him with a tight knot in his chest, but one that does not contort into further rage.
Instead his steely eyes find her own and hold it, hold onto the lifeline of her gaze, letting himself get lost there for a moment. “I have been,” he pauses, wondering at the question, wondering how he could possibly answer it, “I have been okay.” What he wants to say is that he has been hungry and wakeful and just waiting for the moment when he can find her again. “I’ve thought of you,” he admits, although it doesn’t feel weak to do so. On the contrary, it feels brave and he feels the courage flooding through him.
He knows that he should ask her in turn how she has been, and it is not that he doesn’t care, but her next apology catches him, snags his attention, startles something like a breath into his lungs. He angles his head toward her, eyes growing a touch darker as he studies the feminine lines of her face.
“Why did you?” he asks, the husky tones of his voice turning a touch harsh. “Why did you leave?”
@[irisa] i love her and you and your words. <333 take your time!