engage with the pain as a motive, today of all days, see
It is the dead of night when Nate slips from his bed, when he slips from his home, when he slips out under the stars and silently curses every single one of them. There’s a dark hood pulled over his head, every bit of him covered up, except flashing eyes and a wagging tongue, for all the good it could really do. Every step he takes closer to the lighthouse feels like another nail in his coffin, a funeral drum he has to follow.
If only not showing up would be better than showing up.
Even if he comes metaphorically empty handed, Nate knows better than to come truly empty handed. He has with him a fine comb, silvery and in the shape of a crescent moon, wrapped up in a silky blue cloth, silver thread picking out stars across it. He also has with him the star shaped trinket he’d been given, a handful of excuses, mulled on for the last few days.
Only when he reaches the top of the accursed lighthouse does Nate hesitate, his voice cracking when he tries to call out. ”Safrin. I’m... I’m back.” His shoulders slump, and his gaze is resolutely trained on the floor, just in case.
If only not showing up would be better than showing up.
Even if he comes metaphorically empty handed, Nate knows better than to come truly empty handed. He has with him a fine comb, silvery and in the shape of a crescent moon, wrapped up in a silky blue cloth, silver thread picking out stars across it. He also has with him the star shaped trinket he’d been given, a handful of excuses, mulled on for the last few days.
Only when he reaches the top of the accursed lighthouse does Nate hesitate, his voice cracking when he tries to call out. ”Safrin. I’m... I’m back.” His shoulders slump, and his gaze is resolutely trained on the floor, just in case.
how the most dangerous thing is to love
how you will heal and you'll rise above
NATE
