if i could change, i would. || isle

[Offspring]

something has been taken from deep inside of me;
the secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see.

  A hollow hole has been etched into his heart, gaping grievously as old memories begin to seep from the recesses of his mind, draping him in a long-buried grief that envelopes him inch by inch. A lifetime of secrets, of forgotten memories (repressed; concealed beneath a stoicism that had become his entire essence) had begun to emerge, dredging his weary heart through the dust and sludge of time. It had taken him so much time (so many months, years, wasted to the desolation of his own heartbreak; squandered by the burden of loss) to tuck his anguish away, to swallow it down and to ignore the acrid, bitter taste it left behind. It had taken so much to forget that time is an everlasting mechanism, unyielding to his own will, charging forth with reckless abandonment.

   Death was an inevitable truth, one he once craved so deeply it had almost consumed him in its entirety – the puckered, pink scars splayed across his flesh are not wounds from war fought with any other, but of a war with himself. His heart is heavy at the memory of his own deterioration, of how unraveled he became in the wake of loss – in the aftermath of the burdensome realization that in the end, it would always be him - only him, left to fester in an unwanted, loathsome existence. He had since drawn himself out of his own sinkhole of despair, but it has begun to open beneath him once again, threatening to swallow him whole.

   His name is gentle on her lips, and he can feel the frayed edges of himself coming undone at the seams – and in the very same breath, she is pressed against him, crushing her fragile body against the rigid bone and muscle of his own. His dark lashes draw to a close over the fiery, burning embers of his own crimson gaze, and the broad line of his neck is soon draped over her own, cradling her closer to him as his heart begins to crumble within. At the forefront of his mind, the image of an old ally, of his closest friend weakening into a meek, frail version of the pillar of strength he had once been – seeing his lifeless, fragile body lying in a heap along the shoreline, with his forlorn lover weeping over him reminds him too of the infirmity of life.

   His lips press against her withers, tasting the sweet scent of her skin beneath his tongue, and his heart aches painfully against the void of his chest. The silence is palpable; his mind lingering on the memory of her birthing their firstborn, of her cradled against his side in the dim obscurity of a carved out cave tucked within a mountainside, of his lips caressing and traveling every inch of her body within the dense tepid heat of a summer night.

   Where her deep brown eyes remained vibrant and bright, the skin nearest to them crinkled with age – and though time was far from finished with her, it had left its eternal mark on her flesh – a reminder now more than ever that time is fleeting. A breathless sigh brushes across the surface of her two-toned skin, and carefully, he tastes every part of her his greedy mouth can reach, a fervid heat simmering still within his touch, but there is a tenderness within his touch that speaks more than words ever could of the tireless, undying love he has for her.

   Soon, her lips are against his cheek as she has drawn away from him, seeking his tired, burning eyes. Each kiss laid upon his skin pushes the anxiety festering inside of him further down, and he is weak to her, wavering beneath her steadfast, soothing affection. When his heavy lashes finally reveal his gaze to her, it is rife with emotion, unshed tears brimming along the dark rim and clouding his vision. Her words are soft, but heavy and laced with a longing for honesty he had denied to her for too long, and when her lips press against his chest, against his heart, he is completely undone.

   Trust me, she begs of him, and he does - he does, unable to bear the weight any longer.

   ”I have lived a thousand lifetimes, Isle,” he utters in a nearly breathless gasp, the weight of too many stifled memories crushing him, suffocating him. ”I am one hundred and thirty-seven years old –“ a weight lifted, but a heavier one takes its place. ”I have seen too much, I have felt too much. I have loved, I have lost, and still I live. I have no right, I have no right to more time, but it’s all I have – all I have is time.”

   The broad muscle and bone of his cheek is stained with salty tears, his chest heaving from the overwhelming emotion surfacing. ”Killdare, he .. he’s gone,” dead, nothing but ash, nothing but a memory, as she would be one day, too. ”he’s gone, that’s where I’ve been. He’s gone.”

   A breath, shaky as he finally disintegrates before her, the stoicism, the strength fading away from his tired bones and his weary eyes. His whiskered lips press against her cheek, against her skin, tasting her again as he comes undone before her. ”I can’t lose you too, I love you,” he confesses, he pleads. ”I love you.”

wounds so deep they never show; they never go away.
like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they've played.

Offspring