that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
It’s easy to pretend this is the real him. He’s always surprised by how quickly he can slip the mask on and how quickly it becomes the real him. The terror fades into the background—the hurt and the confusion and the uncertainty. He pushes it into the very back of his mind and lets this become the only him that exists. The young, golden stallion with the feral smile and the wild steak a mile wild in his heart.
Her answer is guarded and there’s part of him that’s not surprised. It is the kind of guarded, evasive answer that he would have, has, given. “Nothing wrong with just being around,” he says flippantly, being careful to not make eye contact as they walk together lest she think him too worried about her well-being or too invested in what her answer would have been. He wanted to continue staying distant.
There is a piece of him that does want to know—that is curious about the answer.
Wants to know why a girl like her wouldn’t have a true home of her own.
(I don’t care, he reminds himself. I don’t care.)
They come to a stop and he admires the place she has found—the lush greenery and the dappled sunlight. It will do, he thinks, and he moves a few steps away to find his own place to graze. His sharp teeth rip at the grass and he realizes just how hungry he had been—how relieving it is to eat again and to feel alive.
There is silence as he fills his belly, as the sun washes over his back. He doesn’t stop again until she looks to him and poses another question. “I just think there’s something more,” he rolls a shoulder, satisfied that the answer skirted the truth enough without diving into the truth of it. “Don’t you think?”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
