08-18-2019, 01:01 AM
sometimes i wonder, will god ever forgive us for what we've done to each other?
then i look around and realize, god left this place a long time ago.
Somewhere else, she says, and the smirk that follows is wry – or smug, though he never cared to learn the difference – and perhaps he might have laughed had they met anywhere else. Perhaps he would have been swayed to something other than the darkness that swells and bursts at the base of his throat. He can feel its ink-black fingers dip into the place where his heart ought to be.
There is some small part of him that wonders it is she’s so upset about. She had not been there when he’d screwed his eyes up tight and began to fumble for something he would never be able to reach. She had materialized somewhere in the interim, which perhaps technically meant that she was encroaching on his space and not the other way around.
“You’re probably not wrong,” he muses and the smirk remains, wayward and lopsided. And where does he belong? This bastard who’s never been able to stop his feet from moving, who has never stilled long enough to grow roots, who has never had any place to call home except for maybe the cold banks of the river.
The smirk slips at its edges in the wake of her answer. She delivers it so matter of factly that it nearly knocks the wind out of him. He can feel it close a fist around his lungs, squeeze the air out of them. He sucks in a sharp breath, the nostrils flaring as he considers her. As his gaze shifts along the scaled shoulder as it catches what little moonlight slants through the canopy overhead.
“That makes two of us, then,” he says and then he shrugs again.
