04-21-2016, 01:19 AM
A noise at the cave entrance tears me out of empty fantasy, out of the ghostly arms of an imaginary someone I can love without taking too much or hurting anyone or letting anyone down. Without giving anyone a single reason to regret taking me in. The deepest, darkest, loneliest part of me is still waiting for the day it all comes crashing down. Sometimes when Isle holds me and fusses over my forelock and rains kisses down on me like the angel I still think she must be, it chases away that hurt for a while and I can convince myself that it's gone for good. But so far it's always been a matter of time before the dark peeks out again and I am once again fragile glass waiting to shatter.
The unexpected sound shoves me back into reality, and once again I feel cold rock under my cheek, pressing unyielding into my side. I breathe out a quiet sigh and push away from the hard surface, shaking my head at my own senseless agony. It could be so easy, if I knew how to let it. Some days it's the easiest thing in the world, to be loved. Others?
The sounds begin to filter through my self-imposed isolation, but it is only when they stop that it sinks in: someone is here, and that someone is hurting too. My eyes seek him out, finally finding him when he begins to move toward me. Argo. My sorrow vanishes in the face of his, melting away into oblivion as he crumples into a heap beside me. His painted cheeks are tear-stained, and I wrap myself around him and hold him close, rocking gently against him. There now, sweet boy, I've got you.
I have no words to offer him, no wisdom to chase away the pain because we both know it doesn't work that way. Some pain runs deeper than words, even if neither of us should be old enough to learn that lesson. I don't know what's wrong, but I've seen the worry in two pairs of watchful eyes. I'm good at being unseen, after all. So I hold him close, this boy who could be my brother if I just let the old one go. He holds me back, and we breathe together in the silence some place where words don't matter.
As his breathing eases from desperate sorrow into something closer to calm, I rub my cheek against the softness of his fur and something tight and sharp and aching in my chest eases. For once, I am not worried about taking more than I am worth, more than I can give back, more than I deserve. For once I am not waiting for someone to realize I need too much, or hurt too much, or am somehow not enough to make up for the effort it takes to care about me.
For once, I feel safe.
I'll feel guilty later, that I took comfort in his pain, that his sorrow eased my own in any way. But in this moment, all that exists is the light slowly coming back into soft brown eyes so much like angel-Isle's. I lip at his mane the way she does mine sometimes, a quiet gesture of comfort and affection, and wait patiently for him to break the silence. Words will come when he is ready. And I'll be here, no matter how long it takes.
The unexpected sound shoves me back into reality, and once again I feel cold rock under my cheek, pressing unyielding into my side. I breathe out a quiet sigh and push away from the hard surface, shaking my head at my own senseless agony. It could be so easy, if I knew how to let it. Some days it's the easiest thing in the world, to be loved. Others?
The sounds begin to filter through my self-imposed isolation, but it is only when they stop that it sinks in: someone is here, and that someone is hurting too. My eyes seek him out, finally finding him when he begins to move toward me. Argo. My sorrow vanishes in the face of his, melting away into oblivion as he crumples into a heap beside me. His painted cheeks are tear-stained, and I wrap myself around him and hold him close, rocking gently against him. There now, sweet boy, I've got you.
I have no words to offer him, no wisdom to chase away the pain because we both know it doesn't work that way. Some pain runs deeper than words, even if neither of us should be old enough to learn that lesson. I don't know what's wrong, but I've seen the worry in two pairs of watchful eyes. I'm good at being unseen, after all. So I hold him close, this boy who could be my brother if I just let the old one go. He holds me back, and we breathe together in the silence some place where words don't matter.
As his breathing eases from desperate sorrow into something closer to calm, I rub my cheek against the softness of his fur and something tight and sharp and aching in my chest eases. For once, I am not worried about taking more than I am worth, more than I can give back, more than I deserve. For once I am not waiting for someone to realize I need too much, or hurt too much, or am somehow not enough to make up for the effort it takes to care about me.
For once, I feel safe.
I'll feel guilty later, that I took comfort in his pain, that his sorrow eased my own in any way. But in this moment, all that exists is the light slowly coming back into soft brown eyes so much like angel-Isle's. I lip at his mane the way she does mine sometimes, a quiet gesture of comfort and affection, and wait patiently for him to break the silence. Words will come when he is ready. And I'll be here, no matter how long it takes.