the heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity; kensley

[kensley]

i took the poison praying you'd feel it, too i wrapped my neck and prayed that you'd feel the noose Does he remember it? Is it worth talking about? It had been a home worth coming back to but he does not know if it was a home worth talking about. The corner of his mouth quivers in a kind of patient smile as he shakes his head. “I’m afraid my stories aren’t worth telling,” he muses and looks away. “I was born here, in the meadow,” he shrugs. “I lived in the Chamber briefly, but I don’t know enough about the old world to be much of a storyteller.” And he pretends that his voice does not splinter around the sharp edges of the word ‘Chamber’. The place where he’d fallen in love once. There is a silence that settles between them. And then there is a heat that spreads through him. Heat and a light he can feel but he cannot see. It eradicates the exhaustion in him, dissolves the aching in his joints. It allows him to catch his breath and he exhales a weary sigh. When it is gone, he feels new. But whatever power she had was rendered useless by the weight of all he carried with him. So, the muscles do not quiver with exhaustion but the soul is still tired. Her apology elicits a shake of his head. “It’s all right,” he says. “Thank you.” shattered son of jarris and plumeria