satanic silk

His heart, small inside his large body, had grown in that moment, and he felt like his skin, muscles, and rib cage had been pulled back to expose it. The large, red, pulsing muscle which needed to beat for him to live. It is so strange that love is an emotion, an experience, connected to the heart, when the heart actually has nothing to do with it. Love is more connected to the neurotransmitters and chemicals in the brain than anything that goes on in the heart. To live, though, the heart must beat, while the brain may be completely dysfunctional. Sure, that would be a poor existence, but you would still exist. Without a heart, though... And perhaps that is why love is connected to the heart. In a more dramatic way of putting it, without love, we cannot exist. To reach our fullest potential, we need the fulfillment that comes with love.

Silk felt the pain in his chest that sometimes accompanies those feelings that press beyond what our minds can handle. Instead they manifest in the body, psychosomatic expression of love, grief, anger, joy, shame. The pain was so great, for one split second, that Silk had to gasp for a quick breath of salty ocean air. He felt the mare that he was so close to tense under his frame, and he took a step back, giving them both a moment to catch their breath. Of course, he had not allowed Africa a say in whether he were to close that gap between them. He had done it as a risk that was necessary to take. And it had more or less paid off. Though she was tense at the close contact, he could blame her for it, and she had not refused his contact. It was a step in the right direction and he would treasure that and be content.

But the words that she offered him took him by surprise. Though he was shocked, he did what he could to keep it off his face. Instead of surprise, he showed her compassion. There was no judgment coming from him. Especially since he was not one that had ever been prone to a peaceful existence. He considered her for a moment, and could see that this was something that was not just important to her, but something that perhaps was a defining element of her current existence. He snuffled at her quietly and leaned his muzzle forward to nuzzle her and offer comfort. He gazed into her eyes as he replied. Anything can be forgiven. But there will always be hurt if you cannot forgive yourself. Silk knew this from experience, and over the past year had become better and better at forgiving himself. Live with no regrets. It was something he had picked up living on his own, as he passed from herd to herd, friend to friend. Though he had never had many close relationships, he had picked up a thing or two, and that was one of them. True forgiveness comes from within. It's a hard lesson to learn, and sometimes it may take a lifetime to forgive ourselves for deeds we have done.

As Silk looked into Africa's eyes, he saw the hurt and regret that she had internalized. He wished then that he could reach out and take it from her, to take her pain away and hide it from her so that she could not feel it. She seemed so innocent, so pure. Though she seemed to be confessing to murder, he could not help but imagine a white glow that could emanate from her. And this stain that she carried - he wanted to help her with it, to at least accept it as a beautiful part of who she is today.