DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
The echoing rumble of his laugh, bottled and contained for eternity, taken by the Shield, pressed something in his chest - it traced and followed and beckoned, the warmth and depths of everything he had for her. A smile traced, widened and breaking apart all the other apprehensions, all the other defying moments, reverential and sublime, to witness her joy, to listen to the resounding chimes thereafter. I love you could be said over and over and over and he’d take every ounce of it, every beatific syllable, eternally giving and granting it in return.
Thereafter though, pulsed and shattered, as he watched between held breaths and twisting ribs, beckoning curiosity to see what she would choose –
He lost something in those facets, in those fleeting moments when hands revealed a sprig of lavender, little blossoms of something from the past. Maybe a wall ricocheted and toppled therein, maybe another fortification that had always stood before storms and emotions, before disasters and ruin. Maybe his heart clenched and adored far more than he could ever comprehend, a wealth of things he didn’t know he had or encompassed or could express. The first was a chuckle, for that day when he dug the blooms into bakery perimeters and had no idea she was the sole witness, when he tried to pay her back for kindness he didn’t deserve.
He took it and clenched, tighter and tighter still, over the angles of his chest and the bridge of his heart, and then the hope that followed through – hers and hers and hers nearly engulfed him in waves.
For him, a man who’d never had any at all. Who didn’t know how. Who didn’t understand it. Who relied on himself for so long…
He raised the bed of his palm to his eyes, trying to cease the flow of tears starting in the corners, brimming over, struggling to maintain any semblance of composure at all. In the end though, he turned to her and laughed again, let them wander down his cheeks, let them quell and brew and exist. I love you another torrent, another rapture, another moment in the soulful reach he couldn’t fathom. The beast tucked it behind his ear, and only then lifted his eyes back to Safrin.
The rings – nodding, remembering, recalling, hand going into his pockets to produce the boxes carefully designed and crafted by himself. One was emblazoned simply by stars, shapes and sizes and glorified by a canvas of evening splendor, twilight architecture and divinities of cosmos (if Safrin saw herself in them, then the regards had been perfected), and his – blurs and hues of frost and summits. Opening them, he picked the nearly twin rings – gilded bands, etched and sketched in their own constellations – and placed them in his palms, extending them to the goddess.
Thereafter though, pulsed and shattered, as he watched between held breaths and twisting ribs, beckoning curiosity to see what she would choose –
He lost something in those facets, in those fleeting moments when hands revealed a sprig of lavender, little blossoms of something from the past. Maybe a wall ricocheted and toppled therein, maybe another fortification that had always stood before storms and emotions, before disasters and ruin. Maybe his heart clenched and adored far more than he could ever comprehend, a wealth of things he didn’t know he had or encompassed or could express. The first was a chuckle, for that day when he dug the blooms into bakery perimeters and had no idea she was the sole witness, when he tried to pay her back for kindness he didn’t deserve.
He took it and clenched, tighter and tighter still, over the angles of his chest and the bridge of his heart, and then the hope that followed through – hers and hers and hers nearly engulfed him in waves.
For him, a man who’d never had any at all. Who didn’t know how. Who didn’t understand it. Who relied on himself for so long…
He raised the bed of his palm to his eyes, trying to cease the flow of tears starting in the corners, brimming over, struggling to maintain any semblance of composure at all. In the end though, he turned to her and laughed again, let them wander down his cheeks, let them quell and brew and exist. I love you another torrent, another rapture, another moment in the soulful reach he couldn’t fathom. The beast tucked it behind his ear, and only then lifted his eyes back to Safrin.
The rings – nodding, remembering, recalling, hand going into his pockets to produce the boxes carefully designed and crafted by himself. One was emblazoned simply by stars, shapes and sizes and glorified by a canvas of evening splendor, twilight architecture and divinities of cosmos (if Safrin saw herself in them, then the regards had been perfected), and his – blurs and hues of frost and summits. Opening them, he picked the nearly twin rings – gilded bands, etched and sketched in their own constellations – and placed them in his palms, extending them to the goddess.
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars
the way the moon belongs to the stars
