DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
She sat and he stilled, the uncertainty beginning to reel within his mind, the flagging depths waging more than one war in his head. His gaze went to her incessant eyeroll, and he looked down at the ground, heaving a sigh. There were a multitude of answers he could’ve given. Because he was used to being tossed aside and defeated. Because he was used to keeping everything notched and gnarled and knotted until something broke and no one was there to see. Because he was so god damn tired of trying and striving and it all falling apart anyway. Because his decisions could either be calculated and weighed, hellbent on vengeance, vehemence, and ruin, or to keep everyone safe. Except for himself.
Experience had taught him that it didn’t really matter if his walls crumbled and his soul decayed, withered, and punctured; people left. If he made a mistake, people shunned. If he believed he was doing the right thing, it wasn’t. So what was the point?
His jaw clenched again, and he could hear her mother’s words sinking against his spine, and the inevitable reality that he simply didn’t want to yield. “It has been for most people,” and he shrugged his shoulders, attempting to cast it aside once more. Where he could deflect and billow away, where he could rampage and destroy somewhere else. How many times had he listened to others? Took their concerns? Took their weight, their grief, their sorrows? How many times had he tried to fix things that simply couldn’t be mended anymore?
The Sword looked up at her inquiries, one right after the other, unfurling a snort. “Perhaps.” Deimos didn’t expect the shell to come flickering towards him though, but with one minor incantation of Air, it spiraled back, going upwards, gaining height and ascension, until he allowed it to simply hover. “I have made some very poor decisions lately.”
Experience had taught him that it didn’t really matter if his walls crumbled and his soul decayed, withered, and punctured; people left. If he made a mistake, people shunned. If he believed he was doing the right thing, it wasn’t. So what was the point?
His jaw clenched again, and he could hear her mother’s words sinking against his spine, and the inevitable reality that he simply didn’t want to yield. “It has been for most people,” and he shrugged his shoulders, attempting to cast it aside once more. Where he could deflect and billow away, where he could rampage and destroy somewhere else. How many times had he listened to others? Took their concerns? Took their weight, their grief, their sorrows? How many times had he tried to fix things that simply couldn’t be mended anymore?
The Sword looked up at her inquiries, one right after the other, unfurling a snort. “Perhaps.” Deimos didn’t expect the shell to come flickering towards him though, but with one minor incantation of Air, it spiraled back, going upwards, gaining height and ascension, until he allowed it to simply hover. “I have made some very poor decisions lately.”
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
