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and i know that none of it matters
‘I’m tired of seeing my friends in pain,’
Friends. Friends, he had said, that stare that held you for only moments sharper, cutting deeper, than the chill that still lingers now, when you had dared to squirm in your discomfort, in the way that concern sculpted his face (a first, for a boy so reckless, so very stupid), dared to strike at a wound that you hadn’t even known was there. Friends, he had said, and then, as now, it pries at your heart restlessly, knowing that he had not come to you when he had needed you; that you did not (do not) come to him, despite needing him so. Friends, and yet there is a chasm that lies between the two of you.
Friends, he'd said.
And yet—for all (the nothing) that it is worth—you feel like you do not know him at all.
You simply wait along the shore, your boy but a wisp of sand nestled quietly within the expanse of your shadow, your body and his limited by things that should limit everyone, watching the boy that has aged centuries overnight, became a stranger to you in just a few seconds, a handful of words, your eyes wide, smile sheltered and taut, your heart pricked and bleeding, to see that he is fine, is so very oblivious, when something inside of you has shifted, become so irreparably changed, as he dances over the water with grace that is so very familiar and yet completely new to you, made perverse by the haunting sweeps of blue, the fragments of those beautiful things that make him: his long legs, tall body, curls of raven, the colors of carelessness (at this, your eyes narrow, what is left of your smile diminishing into naught but a line, pressed impossibly tight), of bravery (stupidity), trickery.
Trickery. It is this singular thought that breathes the tiniest fraction of perspective, of guilt back in to your mind, enough to tell you that it is unfair to make him bear the weight of your mistakes. In your bitterness you cannot help but idly wonder, for all of the things you see in him, what he sees in you. Your body shifts within the loose snow, eyes flickering to Etziel’s little cherub face, his innocence softening the edges of your defense, lending you the bravery enough to face this, all of the turmoil inside of you, instead of simply walking away.
“Hey.”
Friends. Friends, he had said, that stare that held you for only moments sharper, cutting deeper, than the chill that still lingers now, when you had dared to squirm in your discomfort, in the way that concern sculpted his face (a first, for a boy so reckless, so very stupid), dared to strike at a wound that you hadn’t even known was there. Friends, he had said, and then, as now, it pries at your heart restlessly, knowing that he had not come to you when he had needed you; that you did not (do not) come to him, despite needing him so. Friends, and yet there is a chasm that lies between the two of you.
Friends, he'd said.
And yet—for all (the nothing) that it is worth—you feel like you do not know him at all.
You simply wait along the shore, your boy but a wisp of sand nestled quietly within the expanse of your shadow, your body and his limited by things that should limit everyone, watching the boy that has aged centuries overnight, became a stranger to you in just a few seconds, a handful of words, your eyes wide, smile sheltered and taut, your heart pricked and bleeding, to see that he is fine, is so very oblivious, when something inside of you has shifted, become so irreparably changed, as he dances over the water with grace that is so very familiar and yet completely new to you, made perverse by the haunting sweeps of blue, the fragments of those beautiful things that make him: his long legs, tall body, curls of raven, the colors of carelessness (at this, your eyes narrow, what is left of your smile diminishing into naught but a line, pressed impossibly tight), of bravery (stupidity), trickery.
Trickery. It is this singular thought that breathes the tiniest fraction of perspective, of guilt back in to your mind, enough to tell you that it is unfair to make him bear the weight of your mistakes. In your bitterness you cannot help but idly wonder, for all of the things you see in him, what he sees in you. Your body shifts within the loose snow, eyes flickering to Etziel’s little cherub face, his innocence softening the edges of your defense, lending you the bravery enough to face this, all of the turmoil inside of you, instead of simply walking away.
“Hey.”
as long as i'm inside this dream with you
@Erebos
SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT.
i wanted to add SO MUCH MORE but im tired of looking at it
sorrynotsorry (but i really am, cause you have to read through this crap :'D)
please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death
