WEAVER
He was still a kid, really. Nineteen is a good age. It’s the age where you are supposed to be starting to figure it out, to truly take care of yourself, to be freed from your family to make your own way. Instead, they’d had their family ripped away and neither of them would ever know how to leave the other. The thought is a foreign one, the idea impossible. She would always be his, in some way, as he would always be hers. She would never feel grown because she has always been grown, nearly as far back as she can remember. Their childhood had been too short for each of them, and maybe now that was coming back to haunt them.
The fall hurts, but sometimes it’s the climb back up that is harder. She can hold him as he tumbles down, can kiss his forehead and wipe away the tears. But she cannot build him back up. She can be there with him, but she cannot do the work. It’s a lonely road. One she’d shortcutted by jumping, making up her mind in one moment that she simply had to change. That does not seem like the method Korbin will use. For him, it will be a journey, but one worth taking.
Perhaps one day, she’d tell him the whole truth. Perhaps one day she wouldn’t be afraid of asking him to bear even more, because he already bears so many. Maybe one day she will realize it’s the thing he needs. The idea sits there, in her mind, but now is not the time. It’s not the sort of thing she wants to write, and it’s not the sort of thing he needs right now. Right now, all she can do is hold him.
The fall hurts, but sometimes it’s the climb back up that is harder. She can hold him as he tumbles down, can kiss his forehead and wipe away the tears. But she cannot build him back up. She can be there with him, but she cannot do the work. It’s a lonely road. One she’d shortcutted by jumping, making up her mind in one moment that she simply had to change. That does not seem like the method Korbin will use. For him, it will be a journey, but one worth taking.
Perhaps one day, she’d tell him the whole truth. Perhaps one day she wouldn’t be afraid of asking him to bear even more, because he already bears so many. Maybe one day she will realize it’s the thing he needs. The idea sits there, in her mind, but now is not the time. It’s not the sort of thing she wants to write, and it’s not the sort of thing he needs right now. Right now, all she can do is hold him.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
