Out with the golden we sew // Rapt

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever If asked, he’d say yes, of course he wants Abysm to know his mother. It’s for the best, he’d say. A child should knows both their parents, he’d say. But in a secret, selfish heart, he almost wishes it wasn’t so. That Abysm would have no desire to find his mother, that Rapt would be enough (father, but also mother – birther, life-giver). It’s a terrible thing to think. He’s happy Abysm found her. He will be happy. Her voice is tense. He tastes the ashes of bridges burned on his tongue. It’s terrible, to look upon her, to see the aspects of her so perfectly reflected in Abysm. There is jealousy when she speaks of the other. Of course there is. A shallow intake of breath, teeth grinding against each other. It’s no surprise, but the words still hurt. He stays as stoic as he can. He could run, he supposes. She was always so quick to run – it could be his turn, now. And he might – likes to think he would – save for Abysm. “Fine,” he says, the tone somewhere in the opposite of fine, “I’ll meet them. For Abysm’s sake.” He pauses, then adds. “No dreaming. I’ll meet them in the flesh, here. On regular terms.” rapt caius x else