04-01-2017, 10:04 PM
Canaan
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
A grunt of discontent rumbles within his throat at the bitter way her words cut into him, slicing through his resolve with ease – he should expect no less of her; it had never been any other way. There is a shadow of disappointment lingering within the dark depth of his hazel eyes, which search for any semblance of benevolence within her wry smile, or her glowering gaze, but he does not find any. The heavy echo of the rushing, pounding water against the boulders is almost loud enough to drown out the plethora of thoughts burdening his mind in that solitary, quiet moment, but there is nothing that can keep the resonance of her words from etching their way into his memory. A weary sigh arises as his heavy lashes close for a moment over his eyes - there is not much that can manage to crawl beneath his skin, and yet she is the undeniable exception.
The disappointment is evident in the tension of his jaw, and there is almost a melancholy glint in the golden rim of his stare – but it is fleeting, and likely unseen. Though he had once reveled in their playful banter, it had somehow become bitter, interlaced with ire and provocation. Time had done little to ease the strain, which has become apparent by the palpable tension that is almost suffocating.
”I should have known,” he says, the tone of his voice heavy and laden with weariness, though there is an undertone of irritation woven in between each syllable. His drawl is slow and deliberate, and as smooth as a worn river stone. ”you weren’t quick enough, it seems.” A pause. She had always been driven by something innate; something tucked away deep within her spirit that had always urged her to be more – to do more. While her words were biting, he knew he could more easily unnerve her with the suggestion of failure – a word foreign and vile to her.
”It may be mine, but it is as much your own,” his stare is intently set on her now, observing the glimmer in her gaze, unable to find the mirth within them that she too easily forces into her tone. His frown deepens, wanting to pry, to attempt to tear down the carefully constructed wall built around her – but he shies away from it, knowing it will only provoke her further. ”should you choose to stay.”
”The stench you speak of must be your own – it suddenly feels so much more like home.”
Words that are biting, but also stem from a deeply buried truth.
and we never even know we have the key.