DEIMOS
Lifting, rather than sinking, even if it was far easier to imagine drifting below waves and over stones. It took less effort to simply cease and desist, to stop for eternities, to billow and streamline into nothingness; he’d know: in some proportions he’d done it all his life. But he had no need to loosen his strength now, to send them both spiraling into the deep end. Resolute, and not yielding to the hollow, to the enticing, tempting bombardments of grief, of anguish, set about in his teeth, in his entity, in his soul, until all that remained were those pieces he’d mended and sewn back together. They were a little frayed, a little bent, a little broken, but capable and sturdy, strong and stalwart, when it mattered. Calm, in repose, waiting for the next cycle of their fortitude to begin again.
Hers wasn’t ignored; but acknowledged in between those pieces and proportions, permitted where so many others were not. Passing graces, beholden to no one but themselves, like different times and different measures, all colliding together once more. He leaned forward and flicked at her tail again, as if to remove it from his person, in a very childish, juvenile wake, then leaned back once more, gaze and chin lifting towards the skies while her voice echoed back within his cranium. You can always try with hints of a smirk, the measures of some intentional provocations and goading resting and residing, his head angling towards the Sea of Glass nearby.
He lowered his cranium and stared at her with a slight smirk and the routinely-raised brow at her exposed belly – he would not be scratching it – the sentiments crawling back to former notions. The Sword retrieved his sketches from his pocket, unfurling it from its residual creases, studying the filaments once more. I could upgrade it too. Might be more useful? A quick strike of the charcoal, and the notions were once more revised – turning it back towards feline eyes so she could study it one last time.
Hers wasn’t ignored; but acknowledged in between those pieces and proportions, permitted where so many others were not. Passing graces, beholden to no one but themselves, like different times and different measures, all colliding together once more. He leaned forward and flicked at her tail again, as if to remove it from his person, in a very childish, juvenile wake, then leaned back once more, gaze and chin lifting towards the skies while her voice echoed back within his cranium. You can always try with hints of a smirk, the measures of some intentional provocations and goading resting and residing, his head angling towards the Sea of Glass nearby.
He lowered his cranium and stared at her with a slight smirk and the routinely-raised brow at her exposed belly – he would not be scratching it – the sentiments crawling back to former notions. The Sword retrieved his sketches from his pocket, unfurling it from its residual creases, studying the filaments once more. I could upgrade it too. Might be more useful? A quick strike of the charcoal, and the notions were once more revised – turning it back towards feline eyes so she could study it one last time.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
