DEIMOS
Another waiting game, and it pulsed, crushed, mauled, to watch her features alter, conform to that rapt intensity he knew so well – only this time it was in the beginning arcs of despair. Were he able to shield her from it, he would have, guarded, sheltered from the storm, but this onslaught was of his own making, and he doubted she’d care for his presence much longer. The weight of his words, the sharp precision of their syllables and phrases, clipped and held back so he didn’t fall apart again, sharpened over her, and it might’ve been a worse blow than all his other mutinous, self-loathing thoughts.
Did they ever have a chance to reconcile? Did they ever truly embark upon a new foundation? Or had it all been cast aside, bygones and treachery, denial and rejection, rues and regrets, unsettled and uncertain? Had he ripped that away from them too?
Why wouldn’t the ground just swallow him whole now? Let it be over and done with, so that he didn’t have to keep enduring these endless, eternal agonies? So that he paid for his crimes, his transgressions, his sins?
She stepped back and he didn’t give chase; expected her to flee from him, from the news, from the merciless, unrelenting edges of cold days and mercenary evenings, where all he’d craved was security and all he’d granted was despair. Her tears and her trembling urged him onward, but he stayed, rigid, taut, and unyielding, merely so he didn’t follow in the same paths, struggling to remember what it was like to be detached. Numb. Apathetic. Indifferent. Completely uncaring about anyone, anything, other than mountains and the rest of the world burning down around him.
Her whisper clawed at him, and his shuddering breath was the only thing that could prevail. “Yes.” Gone, an existence erased. It hit harder, above his ribs and lungs, circling over his heart like an anvil, like a barrage, like an assault, like a siege. "There will be a pyre." A service to follow, where memories could be untangled or feelings mauled. He had no other words to give her but the finality of it all, his head bowed and his heart broken.
Did they ever have a chance to reconcile? Did they ever truly embark upon a new foundation? Or had it all been cast aside, bygones and treachery, denial and rejection, rues and regrets, unsettled and uncertain? Had he ripped that away from them too?
Why wouldn’t the ground just swallow him whole now? Let it be over and done with, so that he didn’t have to keep enduring these endless, eternal agonies? So that he paid for his crimes, his transgressions, his sins?
She stepped back and he didn’t give chase; expected her to flee from him, from the news, from the merciless, unrelenting edges of cold days and mercenary evenings, where all he’d craved was security and all he’d granted was despair. Her tears and her trembling urged him onward, but he stayed, rigid, taut, and unyielding, merely so he didn’t follow in the same paths, struggling to remember what it was like to be detached. Numb. Apathetic. Indifferent. Completely uncaring about anyone, anything, other than mountains and the rest of the world burning down around him.
Her whisper clawed at him, and his shuddering breath was the only thing that could prevail. “Yes.” Gone, an existence erased. It hit harder, above his ribs and lungs, circling over his heart like an anvil, like a barrage, like an assault, like a siege. "There will be a pyre." A service to follow, where memories could be untangled or feelings mauled. He had no other words to give her but the finality of it all, his head bowed and his heart broken.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
