DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The comment alone had him laughing, nearly a pretense of reaching for the letter left on counter there, but scattered away on playful grins, on nullifying all the sharpened edges. “Fine,” was a quieter murmur once the chuckles had ceased reverberating, because one more thing wasn’t going to malign the morning – much less a conversation, a decision, a possibility he and the priest would likely have to make together.
An observer out of habit, from battles and wars and campaigns, he studied her reaction, grinned all the more when shaky breaths unfurled and fingers toyed restlessly – patient and forbearing. Waiting – for what, he wouldn’t name, but a biding, persistent resolve pooled over his form, laughing again when the answer gave none of the clarity. Whispers and lines drawn back. Air and delicacy. Seeing which would maneuver first; a circling venture where neither strayed. He might’ve chased, had she given him an opportunity, but the words pressed regardless, in their mischievous haze. “Thought I would give you a choice,” instead of presumptions; there’d been enough of that lately.
Which she made within an instant later – his piercing gaze widening for half a second before entangling within the alteration. “I have some,” he promised, not used to staring up at anyone, but raising his jaw just the same. Maybe seditiously, maybe mutinously, never quite capable of nullifying the revolutionary juxtapositions, but forging onward, mouth meeting hers as his free hand cupped the back of her head, no edges, no fringes, no boundaries.
An observer out of habit, from battles and wars and campaigns, he studied her reaction, grinned all the more when shaky breaths unfurled and fingers toyed restlessly – patient and forbearing. Waiting – for what, he wouldn’t name, but a biding, persistent resolve pooled over his form, laughing again when the answer gave none of the clarity. Whispers and lines drawn back. Air and delicacy. Seeing which would maneuver first; a circling venture where neither strayed. He might’ve chased, had she given him an opportunity, but the words pressed regardless, in their mischievous haze. “Thought I would give you a choice,” instead of presumptions; there’d been enough of that lately.
Which she made within an instant later – his piercing gaze widening for half a second before entangling within the alteration. “I have some,” he promised, not used to staring up at anyone, but raising his jaw just the same. Maybe seditiously, maybe mutinously, never quite capable of nullifying the revolutionary juxtapositions, but forging onward, mouth meeting hers as his free hand cupped the back of her head, no edges, no fringes, no boundaries.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
