the stars lined our heartbeats

Deimos

we are all b r o k e n
that's how the l i g h t gets in

His love had never been an easy thing to find – once, maybe, in youth, when ardor could run rampant to everyone and everything, none the wiser. But with experience came loss, and with loss came guards, walls, and reserve, a vicious nonchalance, apathy, and detachment to cover, to contort, to suppress the magnitude, the weight, of his grief. Hidden and tucked away, preferring to remain as a weapon rather than a living, breathing being – rampaging and consigning himself to certain levels of hell for a kingdom that would sooner throw him under its mountains and glaciers. No emotions, no feelings, no sentiments for the wake of the world he possessed and seized, only plots, only ruses, only deceit to ensure their safety, only intimidating factions to keep the enemies and adversaries at bay. He’d begged for the world to fear him instead of gaining access, getting too close, smothering and harpooning him into their ramparts. For a long time, it worked: he was the Reaper, the shadow of the Basin, the magnitude of mayhem and might, malicious and unrelenting, irreverent and bestial, barbaric and twisted. He had no altars. He had no hymns, save for the echoes of battle. He breathed fumes of smoke and ash, death and decay. Oaths were vows embedded in blood, and not a single pledge uttered for anyone, anything, save for those who stood beside him (and the flicker of rain; cascading in rivulets, then gone in ghostly ether), not against him, as they wandered and discarded earthly plains. Then he died, and was given a second chance.

He repeated the same patterns for a while – war, war, war, bloodshed, ruin, abhorrence, abominations, loss, loss, loss, until pulled from the roots, until sent here, where people tried and cared and he didn’t understand it at all. Where they rendered compassion and offered far more than cycles of vengeance; and somewhere between it all he managed to render his walls downward, allow a select few in, see and see and see all the broken rubble and the demolition.

But then Deimos gave back the convictions and devotion, the strength of his fortitude, the certainty in strength, in ferocity, in paramount promises and things he knew he could uphold. Then he saw the sun, the stars, the cosmos, and let all of her in too, and she might’ve been his faith, reverence, and veneration – in action, in hearts, in lungs, in entities, in souls. Eclipsed and not worthy of her affections, but striving to be so every day – his love was stalwart and steadfast, quiet, unfurling, unwinding passions, strong, committed, here between the silence and murmurs, picking up the slight sway, the minute movements, just giving the moments their rendered, beatific contemplations, the hushed promises and proclamations. I do slipping in amidst the acclaim, a soft sigh of relief released from his chest, eyes downcast, on nothing but her, listening to the hums, uncertain of his fortunes but willing to drown in them nonetheless.

Back to his gift, an arch to his brow that she likely couldn’t see, a smile he only hid in the depths of her golden tresses, like suns and rays, like solar flares and burning, blinding things – incapable of looking away. A chuckle shuffled over the notion of her benedictions too, like minded in today’s intensity and ebullience, the grin widening, promises and bonds laden within. Rumbling formed in his chest again, amused, loving, teasing. “Now.” Only because he had other furtive, secretive plans for wedding bands, only because if she got to wear something crafted to signify future connections, then he should too.

keep the ones who
h e a r d y o u
when you never said a word