KORBIN
And my hands are not clean,
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
At some point, Korbin had stopped looking for the good things. Had grown so tired of losing them, or never finding them in the first place, that he just quit trying to find any. With no hopes or expectations, there was no risk of getting let down. No gain, no pain. And thus began the descent into this darkness. A quiet surrender to the darkness, sped up by the changes around him.
To some, the struggle was what kept them going. Without the need to fight for every breath... what was the point in breathing?
Or maybe that was just an excuse. A fumbly attempt to explain what couldn't be put into words, a compulsion to wrap depression up into a format people could see and understand, make them nod and admit that, oh yeah, there is a reason to be sad about that. Name the monster and maybe it could be defeated. At least, if he could muster the will to keep fighting. Now that it was no longer necessary for him to keep his shit together in order for them both to survive, Korbin slowly lost his grip on that.
"Don't know what? That it won't suddenly make everything the way it was? You keep waiting for something that won't happen, Weaver," he sighed, sounding tired. Bone weary, like the day hadn't just begun. "The kid you're looking for isn't coming back."
He had lost that happy, mischievous child somewhere along the way. Maybe when Straia left. Maybe he'd been dealt the death blow when Erebor died, and been bleeding out ever since.
All he knew was, that he couldn't remember how to smile like that anymore.
To some, the struggle was what kept them going. Without the need to fight for every breath... what was the point in breathing?
Or maybe that was just an excuse. A fumbly attempt to explain what couldn't be put into words, a compulsion to wrap depression up into a format people could see and understand, make them nod and admit that, oh yeah, there is a reason to be sad about that. Name the monster and maybe it could be defeated. At least, if he could muster the will to keep fighting. Now that it was no longer necessary for him to keep his shit together in order for them both to survive, Korbin slowly lost his grip on that.
"Don't know what? That it won't suddenly make everything the way it was? You keep waiting for something that won't happen, Weaver," he sighed, sounding tired. Bone weary, like the day hadn't just begun. "The kid you're looking for isn't coming back."
He had lost that happy, mischievous child somewhere along the way. Maybe when Straia left. Maybe he'd been dealt the death blow when Erebor died, and been bleeding out ever since.
All he knew was, that he couldn't remember how to smile like that anymore.
But they can still carry you home
when you are ready to sleep
when you are ready to sleep
