04-18-2016, 07:51 PM
Another quiet, empty night. Insects sing their strange buzzing, humming song in the distance, a stray breeze rustles the long summer grasses, and for once clouds cover the sky, hiding the stars and their haunting siren song. I can still feel them high overhead, a treasure impossible to reach, a nightly reminder of what will never be. The blanket of clouds should make it easier to breathe, should ease the endless ache in my chest. Shouldn't it?
I shouldn't miss him anymore either. It's been months, and really I knew him so briefly. The time before our birth has faded now, nothing but a dream that leaves me reeling with his absence when I wake. I had him beside me for less than a day, and a blurry day at that. I remember the star-kissed skin of his lower legs, the midnight black sheen of the rest of his coat, but the shape of his face, the angle and color of his eyes, they're all fading into oblivion, leaving nothing behind but a hollow place inside where my twin used to fit.
Months, and I still drift through my life without him, latching onto anyone who shows me even a drop of compassion. I clung to Miss Isle the second she woke me beneath the shadow of that old tree, gentle caresses and the sweet murmuring of a voice exactly like a mother's should be. And so drastically different from the cold indifference of my own mother even toward her bolder, brighter son. The one whose absence makes the world feel so empty. But Miss Isle has her own family, a mate and a son of her own, and...and I shouldn't get in the way of that. I couldn't intrude and repay her kindness with that kind of selfishness. I couldn't let myself need that much from them, can't take from them when I have nothing to give back.
Sometimes it hurts to breathe though, watching from a safe distance. Witnessing that kind of love and still holding myself apart from it. Not too far apart, because that seems to bother Miss Isle and I don't want to make her sad. But when my heart hurts a little bit too much to take, I sneak away and retreat to a little cave I've found and let the cool, dark arms of the earth embrace me for a little while. Alone is what I was built for. It has to be, or my birth family couldn't have walked away from me so easily.
And tonight, when the ache inside my chest feels like a bottomless chasm and the clouds threaten rain and bless me with an excuse, I quietly fade into the background and slink off toward my safest place. Rain starts to fall just as I duck through the entrance—though ducking is hardly necessary. I have grown a bit in the months since I was a tiny undersized colt straining to reach for sustenance. Awkward and leggy and still whisper-thin despite Miss Isle's best attempts to put some meat on my bones, I guess I get a good bit of my size from my absent dam. Mother was a bit smaller than even Miss Isle, who is dwarfed in comparison to her mate. I don't know anything about my father, but I rather doubt he was anything like the towering black stallion who loves her so. If he had been, the idea of needing to duck through the cave entrance wouldn't be quite so laughable.
Still, high ceilings or no, the cave is cool and cozy, and will shelter me from the rare precipitation. I don't need to go more than a few steps in before I feel the muscles in my neck and back relaxing. I barely even notice the tension from being out in the open, so exposed to anyone near enough to see me (and the vast plains of the Tundra can feel so exposed sometimes) until it begins to melt away. I press against the cool cave wall, resting my cheek against the rock the way other people sometimes rest their cheeks against one another. Eyes closed, drawing comfort, support, just reassuring themselves of their loved one's presence. I don't think I'll ever love like that. I don't think I have it in me. But the cold, hard surface doesn't seem to mind lending me a little strength, and the yearning ache in my chest eases just a little bit as I close my eyes and pretend.
I shouldn't miss him anymore either. It's been months, and really I knew him so briefly. The time before our birth has faded now, nothing but a dream that leaves me reeling with his absence when I wake. I had him beside me for less than a day, and a blurry day at that. I remember the star-kissed skin of his lower legs, the midnight black sheen of the rest of his coat, but the shape of his face, the angle and color of his eyes, they're all fading into oblivion, leaving nothing behind but a hollow place inside where my twin used to fit.
Months, and I still drift through my life without him, latching onto anyone who shows me even a drop of compassion. I clung to Miss Isle the second she woke me beneath the shadow of that old tree, gentle caresses and the sweet murmuring of a voice exactly like a mother's should be. And so drastically different from the cold indifference of my own mother even toward her bolder, brighter son. The one whose absence makes the world feel so empty. But Miss Isle has her own family, a mate and a son of her own, and...and I shouldn't get in the way of that. I couldn't intrude and repay her kindness with that kind of selfishness. I couldn't let myself need that much from them, can't take from them when I have nothing to give back.
Sometimes it hurts to breathe though, watching from a safe distance. Witnessing that kind of love and still holding myself apart from it. Not too far apart, because that seems to bother Miss Isle and I don't want to make her sad. But when my heart hurts a little bit too much to take, I sneak away and retreat to a little cave I've found and let the cool, dark arms of the earth embrace me for a little while. Alone is what I was built for. It has to be, or my birth family couldn't have walked away from me so easily.
And tonight, when the ache inside my chest feels like a bottomless chasm and the clouds threaten rain and bless me with an excuse, I quietly fade into the background and slink off toward my safest place. Rain starts to fall just as I duck through the entrance—though ducking is hardly necessary. I have grown a bit in the months since I was a tiny undersized colt straining to reach for sustenance. Awkward and leggy and still whisper-thin despite Miss Isle's best attempts to put some meat on my bones, I guess I get a good bit of my size from my absent dam. Mother was a bit smaller than even Miss Isle, who is dwarfed in comparison to her mate. I don't know anything about my father, but I rather doubt he was anything like the towering black stallion who loves her so. If he had been, the idea of needing to duck through the cave entrance wouldn't be quite so laughable.
Still, high ceilings or no, the cave is cool and cozy, and will shelter me from the rare precipitation. I don't need to go more than a few steps in before I feel the muscles in my neck and back relaxing. I barely even notice the tension from being out in the open, so exposed to anyone near enough to see me (and the vast plains of the Tundra can feel so exposed sometimes) until it begins to melt away. I press against the cool cave wall, resting my cheek against the rock the way other people sometimes rest their cheeks against one another. Eyes closed, drawing comfort, support, just reassuring themselves of their loved one's presence. I don't think I'll ever love like that. I don't think I have it in me. But the cold, hard surface doesn't seem to mind lending me a little strength, and the yearning ache in my chest eases just a little bit as I close my eyes and pretend.