12-15-2020, 09:10 PM
one lives in hope of becoming a memory
His sigh sounds like a song, and I am instantly drawn to it. It makes me feel more calm, like a lullaby that gently pulls me into a restful slumber. I am still a little bit on edge, but I am finding myself less and less so as each second ticks by. After all, I had never been a terribly shy child, as can be seen by my reckless journey into the unknown Taigan woods.
When his little whiskers tickle my nose, I giggle unexpectedly, then sneeze. And when I looked back up at him, his smile and kind words make me feel even more at ease. I admire his fully grown horns. Would mine be like that some day? And his bearded chin, do I have those whiskers, too? I find myself crossing my eyes, looking down my nose as if I would be able to see.
When he begins to move away, I watch after him curiously, wondering if he means for me to follow. When he doesn’t stop, I assume that I should, so I burst into a trot to catch up with him. As I come up on his side, I slow to a quick walk to keep up with his long legs. Well, actually, it’s more like a prance, my legs moving synchronistically together in a dance that I had learned from mother.
At his question, I chew on the words for a moment. I think I know what he means. I mean, I’ve been able to see mother’s emotional memories from the day I was born. I had never mentioned this to her, because I know how hard she tries to be happy for me, and I don’t want to disappoint her. I’m not entirely sure that’s what he means, though, so I wait a moment to see if he would give me a hint, which follows shortly after.
I look up at him. Somehow, I know that he knows of my gift (one of several, though two of those gifts I have yet to discover). “Yes,” I say, hesitantly. “I can see mama’s painful memories.” Saying it out loud gives me a moment’s pause. Those painful memories often consisted of him and a black, jewel crusted mare. Some had been from her past, before Beqanna, but those were mere wisps compared to the memories of @[Yanhua], as though the pain was more salient.
Not only that, but if he knows of my gift, that I can only imagine he shares the same gift. And then I start to worry that these worries would leak into his own thoughts. I look away, hoping this would shield my worries from him. I also try to shift my thoughts away from those painful memories that I’d seen, though that proves harder to do. In the end, I ask him, “What does it mean that I can see others’ painful memories?” A part of me wonders if it’s not just painful memories, though. Could I see other memories as well?
When his little whiskers tickle my nose, I giggle unexpectedly, then sneeze. And when I looked back up at him, his smile and kind words make me feel even more at ease. I admire his fully grown horns. Would mine be like that some day? And his bearded chin, do I have those whiskers, too? I find myself crossing my eyes, looking down my nose as if I would be able to see.
When he begins to move away, I watch after him curiously, wondering if he means for me to follow. When he doesn’t stop, I assume that I should, so I burst into a trot to catch up with him. As I come up on his side, I slow to a quick walk to keep up with his long legs. Well, actually, it’s more like a prance, my legs moving synchronistically together in a dance that I had learned from mother.
At his question, I chew on the words for a moment. I think I know what he means. I mean, I’ve been able to see mother’s emotional memories from the day I was born. I had never mentioned this to her, because I know how hard she tries to be happy for me, and I don’t want to disappoint her. I’m not entirely sure that’s what he means, though, so I wait a moment to see if he would give me a hint, which follows shortly after.
I look up at him. Somehow, I know that he knows of my gift (one of several, though two of those gifts I have yet to discover). “Yes,” I say, hesitantly. “I can see mama’s painful memories.” Saying it out loud gives me a moment’s pause. Those painful memories often consisted of him and a black, jewel crusted mare. Some had been from her past, before Beqanna, but those were mere wisps compared to the memories of @[Yanhua], as though the pain was more salient.
Not only that, but if he knows of my gift, that I can only imagine he shares the same gift. And then I start to worry that these worries would leak into his own thoughts. I look away, hoping this would shield my worries from him. I also try to shift my thoughts away from those painful memories that I’d seen, though that proves harder to do. In the end, I ask him, “What does it mean that I can see others’ painful memories?” A part of me wonders if it’s not just painful memories, though. Could I see other memories as well?
memorie
