DEIMOS
The Sword had once lived amidst his grievances, umbrages, and resentments like an abhorrent king; used their roots, their follies, their dissatisfying measures to sate the aversion, animosity, and antipathy in his blackened, soulless heart. It could’ve been much the same here, driven into enmity by all the wrongdoings and harsh pathways, the vengeful tactics, the rush of rancor. Had it not been for friends, for love, for reaching new heights in growth and understanding, he probably would’ve done just that – been a seething, sinuous, savage mongrel across the ages and worlds and timeframes. For now, his enemies and adversaries were treated with disdain, aloofness, and nonchalance; the best and only offerings he’d preside in the quiet lance of so many other wakes. Maybe one day he’d realize they didn’t even deserve that.
Fingers wove and a breath was cast loose from his chest, eyes darting back to hers, striving to find the roots and shoots and leaves of meager saplings and offerings. The word never gripped him tighter, because he knew sometimes that word had no true bearing and had been victim to it before – how often promises were tossed aside. His brows furrowed, mind fumbling through the circumstances, pledges spiraling and sitting on the fringes.
A part of him, maybe petulant, maybe juvenile, maybe still stuck in the ways he’d been abandoned before, urged to say that it wasn’t true. That if he sought her out of the Halo crowd she wouldn’t be there, and if they went marching to the spa she wouldn’t be there, and if they were clustered in devastation she wouldn’t be there – too far away and gone and –
He gripped harder than necessary, but leaned into it all the same. Maybe he’d relied on her too much. Maybe he’d taken so many things for granted. Maybe he cared and that wasn’t enough, and he wasn’t sure when it would or could be. He wanted to utter things like please do not make promises you cannot keep, but he craved and yearned to believe too – and perhaps that was better than always presuming it would all fall apart.
He lifted his free hand and dashed away at something in his eye. “Okay,” he uttered at first, brain incapable of forming much else in the interim – save for the reality twisting and turning under his soul. “You will not me lose me either.” He’d never been the one to leave – but maybe she needed to hear it too.
Fingers wove and a breath was cast loose from his chest, eyes darting back to hers, striving to find the roots and shoots and leaves of meager saplings and offerings. The word never gripped him tighter, because he knew sometimes that word had no true bearing and had been victim to it before – how often promises were tossed aside. His brows furrowed, mind fumbling through the circumstances, pledges spiraling and sitting on the fringes.
A part of him, maybe petulant, maybe juvenile, maybe still stuck in the ways he’d been abandoned before, urged to say that it wasn’t true. That if he sought her out of the Halo crowd she wouldn’t be there, and if they went marching to the spa she wouldn’t be there, and if they were clustered in devastation she wouldn’t be there – too far away and gone and –
He gripped harder than necessary, but leaned into it all the same. Maybe he’d relied on her too much. Maybe he’d taken so many things for granted. Maybe he cared and that wasn’t enough, and he wasn’t sure when it would or could be. He wanted to utter things like please do not make promises you cannot keep, but he craved and yearned to believe too – and perhaps that was better than always presuming it would all fall apart.
He lifted his free hand and dashed away at something in his eye. “Okay,” he uttered at first, brain incapable of forming much else in the interim – save for the reality twisting and turning under his soul. “You will not me lose me either.” He’d never been the one to leave – but maybe she needed to hear it too.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
