so hold my hand and i'll walk with you, my dear
The bad kind. Ok, well, fair enough. Putting your hands on the mossy stone behind you, you lean back a little, tilting your face back up to the tall woman. "Would you like me to move?" You will, if it will make her happier. But for now you're quite content in your little pocket of lichen and moss, and really, you don't feel as though you're in a particularly large amount of danger.
You've kept the swinging of your legs up through the conversation, but now they stop abruptly. For a handful of heartbeats you are perfectly still, the question racing and rattling around your brain, ricocheting behind your honey eyes. Are you different? Well, that depends. Genetically you're really not so different from anyone else, except the god bits; morphologically, well, everyone is different.
Somehow you don't think that's what she meant.
It shouldn't bother you when people think you're different. You are different, and you shouldn't want to be not-different. This isn't your community or your herd. You don't belong to this social grouping of people. You're supposed to assemble the puzzle of this place, not become a piece of it.
So why do you want so badly to be told you fit?
"I guess so." Subdued, soft, you look back into the sea of mist, your boyish face looking suddenly older. "l mean... I'm not really part of this place. I'm just supposed to be an observer. So it makes sense I don't belong." You shrug, trying to put some lightness back in your flat voice. But like a balloon forgotten behind the couch for three weeks, it just doesn't want to float.
You've kept the swinging of your legs up through the conversation, but now they stop abruptly. For a handful of heartbeats you are perfectly still, the question racing and rattling around your brain, ricocheting behind your honey eyes. Are you different? Well, that depends. Genetically you're really not so different from anyone else, except the god bits; morphologically, well, everyone is different.
Somehow you don't think that's what she meant.
It shouldn't bother you when people think you're different. You are different, and you shouldn't want to be not-different. This isn't your community or your herd. You don't belong to this social grouping of people. You're supposed to assemble the puzzle of this place, not become a piece of it.
So why do you want so badly to be told you fit?
"I guess so." Subdued, soft, you look back into the sea of mist, your boyish face looking suddenly older. "l mean... I'm not really part of this place. I'm just supposed to be an observer. So it makes sense I don't belong." You shrug, trying to put some lightness back in your flat voice. But like a balloon forgotten behind the couch for three weeks, it just doesn't want to float.
Kaimana
