He shouldn't be surprised by her answer, it's what she already does—cracks things open to help people understand, help them breathe easier. “I think I’d bury them,” he says after a moment, voice quiet, not bitter or hard. “Not to keep them from people. Just… to keep them safe.” A small shrug ripples the water around him, like suggesting keeping the world's truths hidden is no major weight—and maybe it's not, because he doesn't think he'll ever really have that burden. “Not everything’s ready to be known, some things need time, or the right heads.” He isn't sure he wants them, whether he finds them, or she gives them. Sometimes there's a valuable peace in not knowing. He’s not trying to be profound, it’s just how he thinks. Maybe it’s the lumberjack in him, always cautious with what gets cut and what gets left standing.
Her thank you softens his smile a bit, and while he can't know fully the way it lands, he can see something shift enough between them that he's glad it mattered. Glad maybe he could offer some help to her too.
The question she asks lands in an interesting way, because the answer seems to keep changing on him whenever he asks it of himself. He glances from the water to her, that leaf pile tempting to sink into. He smiles without anything but reflex and carefully managed sadness, leaning a bit closer to her as he thinks through the heat. “I didn't used to,” he admits slowly, carefully. “I think… I don’t want to be the reason it dies. My mother. My father. Whatever hope they had when they named me.” There’s a beat of silence. His next words come quieter, edged with something more fragile.
“If I let it go, it’s like saying they didn’t matter, and I’m not ready to believe that." It's not just for the sake of their memory though, it's what they meant when they stood by that ideal, what they tried to impart into him. "I didn't used to agree with them, but as I've gotten older, I can see that there's a need for fighting, especially if you have something to protect. I just think maybe I didn't have that for a long time, but I finally do.”
Her thank you softens his smile a bit, and while he can't know fully the way it lands, he can see something shift enough between them that he's glad it mattered. Glad maybe he could offer some help to her too.
The question she asks lands in an interesting way, because the answer seems to keep changing on him whenever he asks it of himself. He glances from the water to her, that leaf pile tempting to sink into. He smiles without anything but reflex and carefully managed sadness, leaning a bit closer to her as he thinks through the heat. “I didn't used to,” he admits slowly, carefully. “I think… I don’t want to be the reason it dies. My mother. My father. Whatever hope they had when they named me.” There’s a beat of silence. His next words come quieter, edged with something more fragile.
“If I let it go, it’s like saying they didn’t matter, and I’m not ready to believe that." It's not just for the sake of their memory though, it's what they meant when they stood by that ideal, what they tried to impart into him. "I didn't used to agree with them, but as I've gotten older, I can see that there's a need for fighting, especially if you have something to protect. I just think maybe I didn't have that for a long time, but I finally do.”
Iskra
