Jude
dagger to chest, I'll cut out my ego
I will not speak to you as an equal
I will not speak to you as an equal
To him, it was as much detail as he could’ve provided her. But maybe this is why they can’t seem to make the pieces fit anymore, as friends or anything more - they speak, but don’t understand. And part of him burns with all the more hurt when she doesn’t press, doesn’t ask, doesn’t show an ounce of despair or regret or hell even pity. He would have taken that, in truth. This feels too much like apathy. A neutral form of assistance she would extend to anyone.
“You’re not. I can’t explain much more than ‘I still love you and can’t stop even when we never talk’ you know?” He tries for a smile, the type you’d give when making a self-deprecating joke as he is, but the sincerity is too much to swallow and cracks it apart near instantaneously.
She doesn’t say whether the idea of being friends again once Safrin takes away these feelings is an idea she’s open to. She says…well, hardly anything. It’s somehow worse than the alternatives he’d had nightmares about; yelling, denying him, crying, elation…honestly he hadn’t prepared for this and now he’s realizing it somehow hurts worse. He is a ghost in her life, a passing thought or blurry face in a dream, while he still hears her voice over his shoulder and wakes up thinking he can still catch her scent on his sheets.
And that is why he needs to rip her out somehow, or he’ll hear she’s married one day and break all over again, like a day hasn’t passed since they broke up as little more than children.
Silenced by his own shame, Jude nods mutely and pull over his satchel - Harper’s, given to him by Hadama - and pulls out a newly purchased pair of shears. They gleam silver in the sunlight as he hands them to her safely, blades enclosed within his palm. More symbolism he can’t stand to linger over.
“I’ll keep it safe. What it gets made into, I mean. If it breaks, it all comes back. I will try not to make you do this again.” Careful always, since the day she met him, to never say the word promise.
“You’re not. I can’t explain much more than ‘I still love you and can’t stop even when we never talk’ you know?” He tries for a smile, the type you’d give when making a self-deprecating joke as he is, but the sincerity is too much to swallow and cracks it apart near instantaneously.
She doesn’t say whether the idea of being friends again once Safrin takes away these feelings is an idea she’s open to. She says…well, hardly anything. It’s somehow worse than the alternatives he’d had nightmares about; yelling, denying him, crying, elation…honestly he hadn’t prepared for this and now he’s realizing it somehow hurts worse. He is a ghost in her life, a passing thought or blurry face in a dream, while he still hears her voice over his shoulder and wakes up thinking he can still catch her scent on his sheets.
And that is why he needs to rip her out somehow, or he’ll hear she’s married one day and break all over again, like a day hasn’t passed since they broke up as little more than children.
Silenced by his own shame, Jude nods mutely and pull over his satchel - Harper’s, given to him by Hadama - and pulls out a newly purchased pair of shears. They gleam silver in the sunlight as he hands them to her safely, blades enclosed within his palm. More symbolism he can’t stand to linger over.
“I’ll keep it safe. What it gets made into, I mean. If it breaks, it all comes back. I will try not to make you do this again.” Careful always, since the day she met him, to never say the word promise.
Label my pride and I'll cast it away
If power corrupts, then just let me be weak
If power corrupts, then just let me be weak
