03-04-2018, 07:11 PM
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain, And eyes squeezed shut ‘neath rusty mane; The thing is, here’s been here before. He’s made such promises before, and with every intent to keep them. But the others – they lose interest, or leave, or die, and he is back to beginning. Back with a worthless pledge. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. But ah, he is mad for her, and those times – those are the times he can’t fully recall. The old, distant aches. Blurred faces. Her face, though, is crystalline. The whole thing feels like magic, he keeps expecting some veil to fall away, for her face to turn from kindness to cruelty. But she is the same, star-lit, looking into his eyes, touching him, and underneath her nose his skin is smooth and free of scars. Because this is a new body. A new chance. “Always,” he says, such a heavy word, though he means it. The fool, he thinks himself strong enough to bear such a weight. “I love you, Saedis,” he says. Maybe it’s too soon to spill such words, smothering. But the words have been at the back of his throat for too long now. Ever since he left. And he isn’t strong enough to hold them back. (He is not so strong, after all.) Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain. |