an angel kissing on a sinner, tessa

[thomas]

and I'm the kind of love it hurts to look at, but once I was enough to make you try
now, I'm underneath the rubble, trying not to feel the trouble.

He does not wander far.
He is neither curious nor brave.
He has no want to venture anywhere on his own.

He is so careful. Sometimes he shakes with the effort it takes to navigate rough terrain. Because he does not trust the glass not to shatter. Because he does not trust himself not to trip and fall. Because he does not know what will happen should the glass chip or splinter. He does not know how to be fragile except to be careful.

But he does not want to be afraid. He does not want to carry his fear like a marble between his teeth. He wants to be warm like his sister. Soft like his sister. Sometimes he presses his cold, hard mouth against the soft length of her throat and revels in the feeling of life that pulses through her. He touches his mouth to his own chest and feels nothing at all except the cold.

He is staring hard at the ground as they walk now, hip to hip. He catches his tongue between his teeth in concentration as he carefully chooses where to put his feet. He is acutely aware of every peak and valley in the topography as they venture away alone.

“What do you think the world is like?” he asks, distracted. It’s a far away kind of question. A sad one, too. Because he cannot help but feel like his sister will see more of it than he ever will.

THOMAS

— and you don't care for me enough to cry —