you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
Once, it would’ve been much easier to circumvent forms of communication – to either give in or isolate, granting very little because that was far more comfortable. To remain hidden and cloaked and locked away, away, away, where no one hurt and maimed and bludgeoned him again. Those angles of fortresses and bulwarks, trapping and tempting, couldn’t be the way he lived his life anymore, no matter the beguilement of their ease, the familiarity of their wake. It hadn’t been for lack of trying over the years, and while pain wasn’t foreign to him, and never had been, the way someone could slash at his heart and tear it apart still lurked in the back of his mind. Nor was it fair to believe that every soul would come to eventually maim his. But if he didn’t guard himself, no one else would.
He feigned an eyeroll at the first response, but leaned into her waiting hand, trying to pry his thoughts and feelings into words, into phrases. Vulnerabilities and discomforts, realities and tangibilities, coercing together to try to give him a voice – but he listened first, as they receded from igniting and sparking, no incendiary urges with conversations unfurling into meanings and sentiments. Trust and slowness and giving space to breathe, happiness and contentment, caring and safety, things he’d taken a very long time to grasp – ignoring the flush of color along his cheeks, he tried to convey and impart the same. “I trust you,” which might’ve been the most difficult to wander through – reserved for few. “And I am drawn to your spirit, your strength, your convictions. Maybe your mischief too.” A grin formed along the corner of his mouth, cheek dimpling slightly. “And I care about you, I always have.” As friends, and extended proportions, to this.
He wasn’t going to say love yet either – too soon, and he was too wary, waiting for something else to flicker and fall away. “Nor do I want to rush anything.” Because then they might’ve skipped steps and hurdles, might’ve forgotten something along the wayside, might fracture and break before anything was structurally sound. “So is that…dating, courting?” What did they even call it now?
He feigned an eyeroll at the first response, but leaned into her waiting hand, trying to pry his thoughts and feelings into words, into phrases. Vulnerabilities and discomforts, realities and tangibilities, coercing together to try to give him a voice – but he listened first, as they receded from igniting and sparking, no incendiary urges with conversations unfurling into meanings and sentiments. Trust and slowness and giving space to breathe, happiness and contentment, caring and safety, things he’d taken a very long time to grasp – ignoring the flush of color along his cheeks, he tried to convey and impart the same. “I trust you,” which might’ve been the most difficult to wander through – reserved for few. “And I am drawn to your spirit, your strength, your convictions. Maybe your mischief too.” A grin formed along the corner of his mouth, cheek dimpling slightly. “And I care about you, I always have.” As friends, and extended proportions, to this.
He wasn’t going to say love yet either – too soon, and he was too wary, waiting for something else to flicker and fall away. “Nor do I want to rush anything.” Because then they might’ve skipped steps and hurdles, might’ve forgotten something along the wayside, might fracture and break before anything was structurally sound. “So is that…dating, courting?” What did they even call it now?
DEIMOS
