08-22-2019, 04:12 PM
It is exhausting, this game.
The ebb and flow of their anger as it breaks against these soft moments.
She had said that he didn’t know her, but he supposed that she doesn’t not know him either. How could she? He had offered her almost nothing. Told her only that he had walked himself across this entire god forsaken land as a child in pursuit of something he would never find.
Why had he allowed himself to believe her when she’d said that she believed she was meant to find him?
Why had he allowed himself the luxury of that one weakness?
He swallows again and he shakes his head but he does not open his mouth to protest. Perhaps it is her decision to make, he thinks, but knows in his heart of hearts that he is the one who will pay the price when she’s wrong. When he trespasses against her belief and she breaks her anger against the ridge of his spine.
So he will let her believe him worth missing until she learns for herself that she is wrong.
Again, he sighs. It is only defeat now, bone-deep exhaustion from the sudden spike of rage and then its sudden recession. He grits his teeth and he shakes his head. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Adna,” he murmurs. “I never said that.”
He watches her now, wonders what she’s thinking. And then she says it and he wishes she hadn’t. Because he doesn’t know how to rectify this. He doesn’t know how to make it better, only knows how to make it worse. So, he says, “I’m sorry.”
The ebb and flow of their anger as it breaks against these soft moments.
She had said that he didn’t know her, but he supposed that she doesn’t not know him either. How could she? He had offered her almost nothing. Told her only that he had walked himself across this entire god forsaken land as a child in pursuit of something he would never find.
Why had he allowed himself to believe her when she’d said that she believed she was meant to find him?
Why had he allowed himself the luxury of that one weakness?
He swallows again and he shakes his head but he does not open his mouth to protest. Perhaps it is her decision to make, he thinks, but knows in his heart of hearts that he is the one who will pay the price when she’s wrong. When he trespasses against her belief and she breaks her anger against the ridge of his spine.
So he will let her believe him worth missing until she learns for herself that she is wrong.
Again, he sighs. It is only defeat now, bone-deep exhaustion from the sudden spike of rage and then its sudden recession. He grits his teeth and he shakes his head. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Adna,” he murmurs. “I never said that.”
He watches her now, wonders what she’s thinking. And then she says it and he wishes she hadn’t. Because he doesn’t know how to rectify this. He doesn’t know how to make it better, only knows how to make it worse. So, he says, “I’m sorry.”