06-30-2016, 01:44 AM
I used to spend time in these caves to hide from the world, to hide from too many eyes lingering on my skin, too much open sky making me feel exposed, naked and vulnerable beneath that endless stretch of blue. God, especially after Lissie's birth, and the wolves, and how deeply I believed it was all my fault. That I had almost broken our whole family. I had barely been able to stand the light of day, especially while Dad was still mad. I almost couldn't breathe knowing how I'd let him down. Even talking to Mom, even her telling me it wasn't my fault, had done nothing to assuage the guilt that had driven me to the edge of despair.
I was so tangled up in blaming myself, in hating myself for something as simple as who I was. Neverwas. That name haunted me for years, every beat of my heart an imposition, every breath stealing air from the world around me, from people who deserved it more. And why? Because I was born to a woman who didn't know how to love me. Not because there was something wrong with me. Not because I was bad, or cursed, or never meant to live. But because she was broken.
Now? Now I make my way toward the caves for shelter, not because I want to hide from the world. Just because it's winter and I'm a little chilly and I could use a break from the wind. When I reach the mouth of the cave, I turn my face up to the sky, closing my eyes and soaking up a little of the last lingering rays of sunlight touching my face before night falls and darkness embraces the land again. With spring lingering on the horizon the nights are not as long as they were in the dead of winter, but they are still far longer than the days. Winter is too long for my taste here in the Tundra, too harsh and bitter and seemingly endless. Still, it is almost gone.
I am about to turn in for the night when teeth nip my side, shaking me from my reverie. I smile a crooked little half-smile at Argo as he tugs on my forelock, and I lean into the press of his body against mine. His words have me tilting my head, playful though they are. “I know, Argo,” I reply, gently brushing the line of his shoulder with the soft of my nose. Of all people, I understand the need to be alone sometimes, to withdraw into solitude when the world is too much or when love is too much. Even if our reasons are very different. “You know...you know I'll always respect your privacy, right?”
Oh sure, I worry sometimes if he's gone for too long. I can't help but remember now and then the sorrow and the fear in his voice so long ago when he'd told me he thought he was broken. He'd meant it so very differently than I did; my heart has always functioned perfectly no matter how jagged and broken I've felt. His stutters and skips, stealing the breath from his lungs. So of course I sometimes worry. But I would never keep him from living his life. And I would never want to make him feel weak, make him feel dependent, make him feel less than.
He could never be less than.
I love the way he presses against me, casual touches that leave my skin feeling more alive for the contact with his. I rub my cheek against his neck, breathing in the scent of home that lingers in his mane. Not just the place, not just the way our parents and our siblings tangle into that scent, but him. Since the moment I met him, home has been the stuttering beat of his heart, the sweet scent of brother that has deepened as he has grown, richer now and stronger with the onset of early adulthood.
Rather than burying my face in his mane and breathing him in, I return his playful touches with a nudge to his neck and a gentle bump of my shoulder against his. “You think you're the only one who ever needs alone time? Take what you need, Argo. You always know where to find me when you want me.”
I was so tangled up in blaming myself, in hating myself for something as simple as who I was. Neverwas. That name haunted me for years, every beat of my heart an imposition, every breath stealing air from the world around me, from people who deserved it more. And why? Because I was born to a woman who didn't know how to love me. Not because there was something wrong with me. Not because I was bad, or cursed, or never meant to live. But because she was broken.
Now? Now I make my way toward the caves for shelter, not because I want to hide from the world. Just because it's winter and I'm a little chilly and I could use a break from the wind. When I reach the mouth of the cave, I turn my face up to the sky, closing my eyes and soaking up a little of the last lingering rays of sunlight touching my face before night falls and darkness embraces the land again. With spring lingering on the horizon the nights are not as long as they were in the dead of winter, but they are still far longer than the days. Winter is too long for my taste here in the Tundra, too harsh and bitter and seemingly endless. Still, it is almost gone.
I am about to turn in for the night when teeth nip my side, shaking me from my reverie. I smile a crooked little half-smile at Argo as he tugs on my forelock, and I lean into the press of his body against mine. His words have me tilting my head, playful though they are. “I know, Argo,” I reply, gently brushing the line of his shoulder with the soft of my nose. Of all people, I understand the need to be alone sometimes, to withdraw into solitude when the world is too much or when love is too much. Even if our reasons are very different. “You know...you know I'll always respect your privacy, right?”
Oh sure, I worry sometimes if he's gone for too long. I can't help but remember now and then the sorrow and the fear in his voice so long ago when he'd told me he thought he was broken. He'd meant it so very differently than I did; my heart has always functioned perfectly no matter how jagged and broken I've felt. His stutters and skips, stealing the breath from his lungs. So of course I sometimes worry. But I would never keep him from living his life. And I would never want to make him feel weak, make him feel dependent, make him feel less than.
He could never be less than.
I love the way he presses against me, casual touches that leave my skin feeling more alive for the contact with his. I rub my cheek against his neck, breathing in the scent of home that lingers in his mane. Not just the place, not just the way our parents and our siblings tangle into that scent, but him. Since the moment I met him, home has been the stuttering beat of his heart, the sweet scent of brother that has deepened as he has grown, richer now and stronger with the onset of early adulthood.
Rather than burying my face in his mane and breathing him in, I return his playful touches with a nudge to his neck and a gentle bump of my shoulder against his. “You think you're the only one who ever needs alone time? Take what you need, Argo. You always know where to find me when you want me.”