03-08-2016, 06:09 AM
lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all.
but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.
but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.
The thunder rumbles closer now, echoing against the hollowed out trees and their thin, fragile foliage - it echoes in his ears, overwhelming him and bathing him in a cloak of disorienting noise. He closed his eyes at once, ignoring the thick droplets of water that glide along his forehead and tangled themselves in between his long lashes. He breathes slowly, listening to the sky overhead reflect the way his own mind had felt in the weeks preceding. His every thought had been a tumultuous, dangerous wreck, bringing him closer and closer to the brink of the insanity he had once suffered years ago. Loneliness could be buried, but it was only a matter of time until it would resurface.
He had withdrawn from all, keeping only to himself during the warm months of new beginnings. While new life was being born into the open, broad meadows and fields around him, he felt suffocated; strangled by the punishing, constant reminder of his own solitary existence. It was most difficult during this time of year. It stirred up anger, desperation and desolation, causing his usual stoic existence to become overwrought with emotion he simply was not able to control.
Every gentle bleat of new life reminded him of the many children he had lost and outlived; of the many grandchildren he had failed and left behind. He wondered where many of them were now, but deep down, there was a certain finality to his age that plagued him. Deep down, he knew they were all dead. They had to be. Nothing he had ever loved survived to even a fraction of what he had - and of those who may have, he abandoned them, leaving a rotting, decaying part of his heart alone until the end of his days. Whenever that may be. If they ever will be.
The loneliness had been buried so long that it had pent up the force of a thousand hurricanes in a single blow, drenching him in misery and woe as he rested his hipbone against an old pine, resting for a moment as his heart ached and he surrendered to the storm. His coal-stained pelt was now soaked through and through, and tears could not be easily seen amidst the streaks of rain that mar his coat, but they felt hot and searing against his flesh. He lowered his head, his chest heaving slowly as he allows himself to melt in with his surroundings.
He is alone now, and after holding back for so long, he begins to unravel. Though he had experienced only a brief brush with her in the landscape of his endless lifetime, she had carried such weight on him that he was certain he might buckle beneath the burden of her affection. Her soft lips and gentle kisses still burned in his mind, and her swift exit reminded him of all of the things he had once had, eventually lost and could not find again.
Suddenly, a sharp crack awakens him from his emotional nightmare, his dark red eyes staring into the shadows with a scorching ferocity. He seeks the source of the sound, only to find his breath drawn sharply from his lungs - the abrupt rush of cold air burns, but he holds his composure. He studies her hard. Her beautiful, burnt sienna pelt was as drenched as his own, but her eyes glimmered with the same alluring glow that had drawn him to her in the very beginning, as it does now. The gentle curve of her hip and the slope of her spine remind him of her beauty, but something is taken away by the stark appearance of her skin so tightly pulled against the soft lines of her ribcage.
He moves closer, slow at first as if he is uncertain of her (another dream? A figment of his imagination, illustrated by sharp strokes of lightning and diluted vision?), but at once, her scent envelopes him once more. It presses past the thick scent of pine and precipitation, reminding him of the same flora and fauna aroma that had remained on his skin for days after her presence had gone. It reminds him of something bigger and deeper than himself, and he closes the space in between them.
"Isle," his usually bold baritone rumbles and cracks beneath the pressure - his eyes still burn with his sorrow. "I thought I might never see you again.
Then, he draws her closer to him, moving close and pressing his broad chestplate to her own as he drapes his neck along the nape of her own, pressing his nose against the soft shape of her spine as he inhales her scent deeply and ignores the soft tingle of its dampness.
He had withdrawn from all, keeping only to himself during the warm months of new beginnings. While new life was being born into the open, broad meadows and fields around him, he felt suffocated; strangled by the punishing, constant reminder of his own solitary existence. It was most difficult during this time of year. It stirred up anger, desperation and desolation, causing his usual stoic existence to become overwrought with emotion he simply was not able to control.
Every gentle bleat of new life reminded him of the many children he had lost and outlived; of the many grandchildren he had failed and left behind. He wondered where many of them were now, but deep down, there was a certain finality to his age that plagued him. Deep down, he knew they were all dead. They had to be. Nothing he had ever loved survived to even a fraction of what he had - and of those who may have, he abandoned them, leaving a rotting, decaying part of his heart alone until the end of his days. Whenever that may be. If they ever will be.
The loneliness had been buried so long that it had pent up the force of a thousand hurricanes in a single blow, drenching him in misery and woe as he rested his hipbone against an old pine, resting for a moment as his heart ached and he surrendered to the storm. His coal-stained pelt was now soaked through and through, and tears could not be easily seen amidst the streaks of rain that mar his coat, but they felt hot and searing against his flesh. He lowered his head, his chest heaving slowly as he allows himself to melt in with his surroundings.
He is alone now, and after holding back for so long, he begins to unravel. Though he had experienced only a brief brush with her in the landscape of his endless lifetime, she had carried such weight on him that he was certain he might buckle beneath the burden of her affection. Her soft lips and gentle kisses still burned in his mind, and her swift exit reminded him of all of the things he had once had, eventually lost and could not find again.
Suddenly, a sharp crack awakens him from his emotional nightmare, his dark red eyes staring into the shadows with a scorching ferocity. He seeks the source of the sound, only to find his breath drawn sharply from his lungs - the abrupt rush of cold air burns, but he holds his composure. He studies her hard. Her beautiful, burnt sienna pelt was as drenched as his own, but her eyes glimmered with the same alluring glow that had drawn him to her in the very beginning, as it does now. The gentle curve of her hip and the slope of her spine remind him of her beauty, but something is taken away by the stark appearance of her skin so tightly pulled against the soft lines of her ribcage.
He moves closer, slow at first as if he is uncertain of her (another dream? A figment of his imagination, illustrated by sharp strokes of lightning and diluted vision?), but at once, her scent envelopes him once more. It presses past the thick scent of pine and precipitation, reminding him of the same flora and fauna aroma that had remained on his skin for days after her presence had gone. It reminds him of something bigger and deeper than himself, and he closes the space in between them.
"Isle," his usually bold baritone rumbles and cracks beneath the pressure - his eyes still burn with his sorrow. "I thought I might never see you again.
Then, he draws her closer to him, moving close and pressing his broad chestplate to her own as he drapes his neck along the nape of her own, pressing his nose against the soft shape of her spine as he inhales her scent deeply and ignores the soft tingle of its dampness.
OFFSPRING