Out with the golden we sew // Rapt

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever It's not that he doesn’t dream of her – he does. The dreams are rarely sweet. When she turned, when she left their son, something severed. \ He would never blame her for leaving him. That is understandable – inevitable, even. He has never pretended to be worthy. But their son – he’s everything. And she left that. She looked on them with a flat gaze and turned. Later, she returned, but the meetings were brief, practical. Though he birthed him, he didn’t keep the form, and was unable to feed their son. He didn’t look her in the eye. He doesn’t expect to see her, much less to hear his name from her lips. If she happened to be in his orbit, or he hers, he thought they might pass like ships in the night. But no. She says his name. And it hurts. It hurts because there’s a muscle memory to her tone, to the way his name sounds when cradled in her lips. It’s a physical ache, and it slows him. He knows a stronger man than he would walk on, would ignore her. But ah, when has he ever been strong? So he slows. Stops. Looks at her. (But not in the eyes.) “Kagerus,” he says, then, “what do you want?” rapt caius x else