WEAVER
He quiets, though she doesn’t let him go. She stays with her head pressed against his, her arms around him. Maybe she holds him as much for herself as for him. Maybe she holds him because she, too, misses what they were, because despite her longing for the world, she longs too for the simplicity of the life they once had. Some part of her will always mourn when it was simple, when it was just them against the world. Not that that has gone away, but it has changed, and it will stay changed. For all her talk, sometimes she wants nothing at all but the one thing she has always had.
If only he could hear. All the things she could tell him. They threaten to spill from her so easily now, but it wouldn’t matter. He lived in a world of silence, and she couldn’t convey what she wanted in scribbles on a piece of paper. She could not tell him just how much he meant with a pen.
He speaks again, and she lifts one hand to trace letters in the air. A L W A Y S. She closes her eyes as he touches her cheek, leaning into his hand slightly. John and Mom and Erebor flash into her mind, and in this moment, she is full with both the joy of all the things she has been lucky enough to have and the pain of all the things they have lost.
If only he could hear. All the things she could tell him. They threaten to spill from her so easily now, but it wouldn’t matter. He lived in a world of silence, and she couldn’t convey what she wanted in scribbles on a piece of paper. She could not tell him just how much he meant with a pen.
He speaks again, and she lifts one hand to trace letters in the air. A L W A Y S. She closes her eyes as he touches her cheek, leaning into his hand slightly. John and Mom and Erebor flash into her mind, and in this moment, she is full with both the joy of all the things she has been lucky enough to have and the pain of all the things they have lost.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
