DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Deimos was very careful in not comparing suffering circumstances – he would have gladly taken being frozen for three months over certain aspects and events of his life here, including heartbreak, lost, dead friends, and a culmination of failures lined up one by one by one. So she received nothing but a vague eye roll in return, narrowing his gaze slightly in efforts to tide and hide away the barrage building behind them, and eased a very careful sigh through his chest. He tucked those sentiments and ruminations into the depths of his glass, taking another swallow before meandering along lighter, easier topics. “You have a lot to be proud of.” All the motions, all the means, all the measures accomplished – something else that ensured Halo’s growth and dominion. “Do you need anything else for the guild?” She seemed well set, and talk had been swift, sure, keen, and curious amidst the chatter along streets and in between barrages of swords.
His brows furrowed at her mention of safe being boring; giving himself a moment of quiet reflection. How many had he misplaced then, in his need for quiet? In his methods of not being damaged or destroyed?
Because it had happened anyway – as if his efforts had meant very little. Those who were still close were there for a reason, perhaps, and sometimes he had to wonder how he’d managed to maintain or have any friends at all. “Right,” he murmured, a low whisper, keeping the semblance tucked in the back of his mind – for safe-keeping, amidst all the other plots, facets, and machinations. The heathen straightened his head back up again, at some point he’d taken to staring at the ground, at her clapping gesture, and billowed another snort.
His brows furrowed at her mention of safe being boring; giving himself a moment of quiet reflection. How many had he misplaced then, in his need for quiet? In his methods of not being damaged or destroyed?
Because it had happened anyway – as if his efforts had meant very little. Those who were still close were there for a reason, perhaps, and sometimes he had to wonder how he’d managed to maintain or have any friends at all. “Right,” he murmured, a low whisper, keeping the semblance tucked in the back of his mind – for safe-keeping, amidst all the other plots, facets, and machinations. The heathen straightened his head back up again, at some point he’d taken to staring at the ground, at her clapping gesture, and billowed another snort.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
