10-29-2020, 12:53 AM
YADIGAR
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
He imagines all of his old emotions are still exactly as he left them behind the dam that holds them. His love for her is still wandering the streets of his ghost town heart, just waiting for him to come home. It paces until its path wears the pavement right down to the dirt beneath. Someday, all that dragonfire is going to eat through the frozen prison. And when it does, it will find all that devotion waiting.
But for now he lingers in the hushed air of apathy while she extends her neck. Yadigar sucks in his breath when her lips meet his skin. The warmth of her surprises him and he wonders if he has ever allowed anyone this close before. Some part of him wants to snap its teeth in warning out of old habits that linger just beneath his scales. That feral impulse is an echo of when his life revolved purely around a desperate need to simply survive. He doesn’t know how to exist in a world that bears him no ill will.
“How did I feel?” he repeats, wondering how he could begin to describe the monsoon that used to rip through him every day. His wing grips her tighter without his noticing.
“I felt awful. I felt homesick even when I was home,” he begins, stumbling through the memory. He swallows hard. “Except when I was around you. Then I just felt hopeful.”
Yadigar never permitted himself luxuries such as dreams or wishful thinking, but it never stopped that dreadful sense of longing from slipping through. It burrowed into him and never lost its hold when she was near. No, love sank its teeth into him like a dog that drew blood and liked the taste.
“I loved you, I did. I do.”
But for now he lingers in the hushed air of apathy while she extends her neck. Yadigar sucks in his breath when her lips meet his skin. The warmth of her surprises him and he wonders if he has ever allowed anyone this close before. Some part of him wants to snap its teeth in warning out of old habits that linger just beneath his scales. That feral impulse is an echo of when his life revolved purely around a desperate need to simply survive. He doesn’t know how to exist in a world that bears him no ill will.
“How did I feel?” he repeats, wondering how he could begin to describe the monsoon that used to rip through him every day. His wing grips her tighter without his noticing.
“I felt awful. I felt homesick even when I was home,” he begins, stumbling through the memory. He swallows hard. “Except when I was around you. Then I just felt hopeful.”
Yadigar never permitted himself luxuries such as dreams or wishful thinking, but it never stopped that dreadful sense of longing from slipping through. It burrowed into him and never lost its hold when she was near. No, love sank its teeth into him like a dog that drew blood and liked the taste.
“I loved you, I did. I do.”