Lyra
Amazing how life turns out
The way that it does
The way that it does
Lyra listens.
She listens in a calm, nonjudgmental silence that she has perfected over the years, her free hand gently rubbing up and down Jude's arm in what she hopes is a soothing motion. She wishes that she could take away the boy's pain, wipe away the bad memories so that all he is left with is the good. But that's not how the world works - not for her, not for Jude, not for anyone - and so she offers the only comfort she can: a shoulder to cry on, when he's released the venom he's been holding onto for so long.
She doesn't interrupt, doesn't try to offer platitudes that will ultimately mean nothing. And when it's clear that Jude has finished speaking, she still doesn't leap to try to defend his father, or to belittle his lived experience as someone who has felt, somehow, unworthy of love. While Lyra has long felt that children - however old they may be - are deserving of all the love in the world and then some, she has long since stopped being surprised by how often they don't seem to see that for themselves.
In the end, she hums thoughtfully. "Do you want to know what I think?" she asks, placing the decision back into his hands. "You can say no, if you'd rather just talk. I can listen for as long as you need."
She listens in a calm, nonjudgmental silence that she has perfected over the years, her free hand gently rubbing up and down Jude's arm in what she hopes is a soothing motion. She wishes that she could take away the boy's pain, wipe away the bad memories so that all he is left with is the good. But that's not how the world works - not for her, not for Jude, not for anyone - and so she offers the only comfort she can: a shoulder to cry on, when he's released the venom he's been holding onto for so long.
She doesn't interrupt, doesn't try to offer platitudes that will ultimately mean nothing. And when it's clear that Jude has finished speaking, she still doesn't leap to try to defend his father, or to belittle his lived experience as someone who has felt, somehow, unworthy of love. While Lyra has long felt that children - however old they may be - are deserving of all the love in the world and then some, she has long since stopped being surprised by how often they don't seem to see that for themselves.
In the end, she hums thoughtfully. "Do you want to know what I think?" she asks, placing the decision back into his hands. "You can say no, if you'd rather just talk. I can listen for as long as you need."
We end up hurting the worst
The only ones we really love
The only ones we really love
