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03-02-2015, 02:27 PM
och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen
då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,
“Whatever,” summed it up well—there was nothing more for them here, nothing else to find, just lost shards of thoughts, memory, and pain.. wandering souls, strewn across the cavern floor and half-hidden in the crystal dust. There was nothing more for them in the words. Nothing she said would bring her cousin back; nothing he said would soothe the pain in her heart.
And nothing he said would bring
His heart timed out, fell through the bars of his rib cage, and sank ten thousand feet beneath his body; the air grew cold and thick in his throat, a rattle like panic voicing a paper-thin whisper in his lungs.
And nothing he said
He couldn't finish the thought. It drowned in a shrill cacophony in his head, taken and dragged down to where it came from; chained against the blood-splattered floor, not even a sacrifice because it was meant to be fucking forgotten, buried beneath so many layers of stone, iron and snow that no thaw would ever reach it.
This was the most vividly he had allowed—slipped?—himself to feel it—remember it—acknowledge it... could it really lay at the heart of everything? Could it be the point he could trace everything back to?
It seemed so.. small a thing, scarred over (scabbed over; there were no scars in that place, his heart, just raw wounds hidden beneath maroon crusts and tarry tried blood), so long ago, but every damn thought he traced led there—that night.
His first loss.
The depthless sea of guilt and shame.
She was asleep against his chest, unaware of what she had set in motion, what he had set in motion by allowing his mind to roam and thoughts to play with words—
—he couldn't finish the thought but he knew what came after it; "nothing she said would soothe the pain in his heart".
He wished he could sleep, too, let his eyelids fall to hide the light blue eyes, but he was too awake—too aware—and not exactly falling apart but the cracks were growing wider, a little light and a little love slipping through, spilling out in a tide of calm tears and words she would not be able to understand, but they needed out and there was finally no one there to hear them.
And so it was that Mauja spoke of his life for the first time, as he laid there watching over the child of his most heart-breaking union, until the words ran out or she woke up or he fell asleep or whichever happened first—it didn't matter, because he became lost in himself and the moment, blissfully unaware of the delightful irony of it.
[ the end. <3 ]
And nothing he said would bring
His heart timed out, fell through the bars of his rib cage, and sank ten thousand feet beneath his body; the air grew cold and thick in his throat, a rattle like panic voicing a paper-thin whisper in his lungs.
And nothing he said
He couldn't finish the thought. It drowned in a shrill cacophony in his head, taken and dragged down to where it came from; chained against the blood-splattered floor, not even a sacrifice because it was meant to be fucking forgotten, buried beneath so many layers of stone, iron and snow that no thaw would ever reach it.
This was the most vividly he had allowed—slipped?—himself to feel it—remember it—acknowledge it... could it really lay at the heart of everything? Could it be the point he could trace everything back to?
It seemed so.. small a thing, scarred over (scabbed over; there were no scars in that place, his heart, just raw wounds hidden beneath maroon crusts and tarry tried blood), so long ago, but every damn thought he traced led there—that night.
His first loss.
The depthless sea of guilt and shame.
She was asleep against his chest, unaware of what she had set in motion, what he had set in motion by allowing his mind to roam and thoughts to play with words—
—he couldn't finish the thought but he knew what came after it; "nothing she said would soothe the pain in his heart".
He wished he could sleep, too, let his eyelids fall to hide the light blue eyes, but he was too awake—too aware—and not exactly falling apart but the cracks were growing wider, a little light and a little love slipping through, spilling out in a tide of calm tears and words she would not be able to understand, but they needed out and there was finally no one there to hear them.
And so it was that Mauja spoke of his life for the first time, as he laid there watching over the child of his most heart-breaking union, until the words ran out or she woke up or he fell asleep or whichever happened first—it didn't matter, because he became lost in himself and the moment, blissfully unaware of the delightful irony of it.
[ the end. <3 ]
du lät exakt som ismael.
