10-03-2019, 07:03 PM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
When did he become a father? A grandfather?
The years have slipped through his grasp like grains of sand. It doesn’t stop, it doesn’t slow down. He thought of mother and father, of newborn Isobell, but then he blinked and suddenly had grandchildren. And now more, he considers with an incline of his baroque head as his eyes trace along the uncomfortable lines deepening Santana’s brow. Joy flickers across him and rises like the tide, but it ebbs quickly to follow the sharply edged comment. History repeats itself. A wrench in his gut berths a frown that lasts for a few heartbeats. A better sense of himself surfaces and Castile swallows the bitterness lingering at the back of his mouth.
It’s always painful to relive his mistakes, to face his neglectful years. ”I’m sure you didn’t intend to abandon her with your children,” he remarks as a distance haze glosses over his eyes, remembering how his heart shattered into millions of pieces years ago. ”As long as it wasn’t planned. You obviously regret it and you grieve over having missed that time with them as I had,” he wanted to see the twins scamper at their mother’s side, to watch them develop from newborns to weanlings to yearlings. Missed opportunities punctured through him like a polished knife. ”But you learn from it. You do better. You give them the choice to have you in their lives and remind them that you’ll be there for them no matter what. You show, not tell, them how much they mean to you.” Castile slowly blinks and dances his metallic eyes back to his son, allowing the revelation to sink into his pores and encase his regretful heart.
Castile doesn’t need to say it – to verbally admit the love he possesses for his sons – because it shows in his openness to always accept them, in his frantic search for them when the world crumbled beneath the oppressive plague, and in the warmth of his advising voice. It surfaces in his gentle forgiveness. ”You did, but I didn’t set myself up for success with you and your brother. I always hated myself for having disappeared when you and your siblings were born…” a sighing breath tumbles from his lips as he tries to again push away the painful memories.
The years have slipped through his grasp like grains of sand. It doesn’t stop, it doesn’t slow down. He thought of mother and father, of newborn Isobell, but then he blinked and suddenly had grandchildren. And now more, he considers with an incline of his baroque head as his eyes trace along the uncomfortable lines deepening Santana’s brow. Joy flickers across him and rises like the tide, but it ebbs quickly to follow the sharply edged comment. History repeats itself. A wrench in his gut berths a frown that lasts for a few heartbeats. A better sense of himself surfaces and Castile swallows the bitterness lingering at the back of his mouth.
It’s always painful to relive his mistakes, to face his neglectful years. ”I’m sure you didn’t intend to abandon her with your children,” he remarks as a distance haze glosses over his eyes, remembering how his heart shattered into millions of pieces years ago. ”As long as it wasn’t planned. You obviously regret it and you grieve over having missed that time with them as I had,” he wanted to see the twins scamper at their mother’s side, to watch them develop from newborns to weanlings to yearlings. Missed opportunities punctured through him like a polished knife. ”But you learn from it. You do better. You give them the choice to have you in their lives and remind them that you’ll be there for them no matter what. You show, not tell, them how much they mean to you.” Castile slowly blinks and dances his metallic eyes back to his son, allowing the revelation to sink into his pores and encase his regretful heart.
Castile doesn’t need to say it – to verbally admit the love he possesses for his sons – because it shows in his openness to always accept them, in his frantic search for them when the world crumbled beneath the oppressive plague, and in the warmth of his advising voice. It surfaces in his gentle forgiveness. ”You did, but I didn’t set myself up for success with you and your brother. I always hated myself for having disappeared when you and your siblings were born…” a sighing breath tumbles from his lips as he tries to again push away the painful memories.
castile
@[Santana]