What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She leans into his hug. Though she is not as sad as she had been, she is thankful for his quiet comfort, for the arm that he wraps around her simply because it is his arm. Because for a moment, maybe they feel a little more like them, even if they only managed to catch snippets of that anymore. They had such different personalities, and she understands that, but it’s still hard for her to relate sometimes. She cannot imagine curling in on herself simply because life might hurt. She could curl in on herself all she wanted, but life would still find a way to slip a knife into her ribs all the same. Why fight it, then? Why not just embrace it, and find the light amidst the darkness?
Weaver nods at the words, a small flame springing to life before them, though she snuffs it out quickly. Her head stays against his shoulder a bit longer, the grime from their hands probably on her clothes, but she doesn’t care. Being dirty hardly seems like something worth caring about. She stays a beat longer in his arms, finally extracting herself when he speaks again so she can write.
She hums a thoughtful sound, not that he can hear it, and then starts listing things on the paper. I will leave you notes before I leave. I will tell you what I’m doing before I do it, though you know I never ask. Which is entirely true, she has never once asked for permission and she wasn’t about to start. What else? she writes, open to whatever suggestions he has that will make him feel better, so long as he understands she cannot stop being herself.
Weaver nods at the words, a small flame springing to life before them, though she snuffs it out quickly. Her head stays against his shoulder a bit longer, the grime from their hands probably on her clothes, but she doesn’t care. Being dirty hardly seems like something worth caring about. She stays a beat longer in his arms, finally extracting herself when he speaks again so she can write.
She hums a thoughtful sound, not that he can hear it, and then starts listing things on the paper. I will leave you notes before I leave. I will tell you what I’m doing before I do it, though you know I never ask. Which is entirely true, she has never once asked for permission and she wasn’t about to start. What else? she writes, open to whatever suggestions he has that will make him feel better, so long as he understands she cannot stop being herself.
Weaver
