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It is colder than it was before.
It is colder, and you cannot help the way that your body stops so abruptly, sliding gracelessly within the sand, cannot help the way your chest constricts so uncomfortably, nor the way that your mind seems too reluctant to grasp, pull apart and digest to do anything. You merely breathe, shoulders and sides heaving with the effort, your thin legs shaking beneath you as if they are but saplings facing their very first storm. “Ama?” His voice trembles ever so slightly, his rising panic tangible as he presses his nose to your cheek, the touch searing and almost unexpected against the chill of the ocean. It is that sense of impending harm that sits coiled within your stomach, you realize, as the shock settles and you begin to sink back in to your own skin, dry eyes finally slamming shut as your body struggles to gather itself beneath you, reaches to comfort the child standing helplessly at your side.
It is a difficult thing, opening your eyes again, knowing what waits just out of reach. It is obvious now, the smell of pine, of him, of all the things you have missed, so obvious as your heart twists and anger sparks within the things hidden there, that you do not know how you could have missed it, how you could have been so stupid to wander so, so near. It is a difficult thing, emerging from the darkness; too many times have you thought of what it would mean, what it would be, to see him again, all of the things you would say and how you would give him a reason to stay, of the way your heart would no longer know of the suffering it is to be so truly alone. It had been months of living off of daydreams, of nightmares, of emptiness.
And now?
You do not even speak to him, afraid of what you might say, afraid of the lump in your throat and the quivering of your heart. You only look at him, finally, one lingering glance that begins to fracture in its strength, your eyebrows pulling together briefly as your eyes grow hazy. You blink, pulling your eyes from head to tail, expecting some catastrophe (how many times had you dreamt of, agonized over finding him, bleeding again, burning again, or dead, his carelessness finally catching up) but seeing only scars, only reminders. A sigh of quiet relief and the ghost of a smile find you, the fears that have harbored themselves in your heart quelled for just this moment. The immediate warmth at your side refocuses you on a different matter entirely, ears flicking back in apprehension, a steely, brief look given to Rohan in nearly a dare for him to speak against you as you turn to your child. For all the hurt that he has caused you, all you can do is shelter Etziel from it, from him and all of his wild-eyed ways.
“Etziel, this is Rohan, one of my oldest friends.” You only smile at your boy, gently brushing the hair from his eyes as the singular word, all of its (lack of) meaning (you will make a great mother, darling—), the hopes that you had, the plans that you had unknowingly made for the two of you (you had wanted forever, not just a moment, a fleeting instance), crushes your heart. Inevitably, you turn to your the sandstone man, your face draining of its warmth as you stare at him, trying so desperately to hold yourself together when you want nothing more than to fall in to him again. It is difficult to pull your attention from him, force your eyes back on the child standing next to you, always near. “He is the man that saved the girl from the wolves made of shadow in that story. You remember that, don’t you, baby?” You do not like the excitement that colors him at the mention of it, the way that he looks at Rohan with less skepticism and so much bewilderment and admiration; do not like it because he is already too much like the man standing before him, already too reckless for his own good.
“You’re very brave. How did you learn that?”
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and this is how it hurts when i pretend i dont feel any pain
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[P] hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go
