jamie
03-22-2021, 10:44 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
The heart (all fog and shadow and deep, impenetrable darkness) wedges itself into the narrow space at the base of his throat as the darkest of the girls staggers to her feet, as she reaches for the pup with her teeth. As she teeters and then collapses in on herself, curling inward as if that had been her intention. And he knows then that their daughters will be strong, capable, just as their mother has always been.
For a long moment, there is such a peculiar stillness as the two of them merely study the girls in silence. He thinks he should say something else, but he is such a simple thing. A chattering jaw and a hammering heart. An unworthy thing. Ugly and small. The child who could not look at her directly without it crippling him.
But she addresses him and he turns to face her (and he is surprised when he can look at her without grimacing, as if he has convinced himself that he is again the weak, exhausted child who could not lay eyes on her without his eyes burning with tears). Say hello. No, certainly he cannot come closer, he thinks. It seems foolish that she might have even suggested it but he swallows thickly and nods once, just barely.
Hardly breathes at all as he takes a series of small, shuffling steps toward them, head low. It occurs to him that he could shrink himself down, turn himself into one of their wolf pups, curl up amongst them and live there happily for the rest of his days. He knows already that he will belong to them always. But he doesn’t, he approaches them just as he is, this thing made of darkness with those freakish yellow eyes. The palest of them looks up at him, reaches for him just as he reaches for her, and he makes his edges solid so that she can feel him. And he is overwhelmed by an emotion he has never felt before. (It is love and he thinks it comes from his own heart but it comes from hers and this is the only way he will ever feel it, Jamie.)
“Hello,” he whispers to her and then moves onto the next, a girl the color of slate. A girl the exact color that her parents’ soft edges made the first time they ever combined. He gently touches her head, too, feels time shift just barely around them. “Hello,” he whispers to her, as well. And then, finally, the darkest of them. Darkness tinged in red and when he touches her, he swears he can feel bones murmur beneath his feet. “Hello,” he murmurs against her brow and then retreats, feeling as if he has overstayed his welcome in the daughters’ space.
He strays to Beyza’s side then, heart hammering, muscles trembling. “Have you thought of names?” he asks her, not bothering to hide the quivering in his voice.
For a long moment, there is such a peculiar stillness as the two of them merely study the girls in silence. He thinks he should say something else, but he is such a simple thing. A chattering jaw and a hammering heart. An unworthy thing. Ugly and small. The child who could not look at her directly without it crippling him.
But she addresses him and he turns to face her (and he is surprised when he can look at her without grimacing, as if he has convinced himself that he is again the weak, exhausted child who could not lay eyes on her without his eyes burning with tears). Say hello. No, certainly he cannot come closer, he thinks. It seems foolish that she might have even suggested it but he swallows thickly and nods once, just barely.
Hardly breathes at all as he takes a series of small, shuffling steps toward them, head low. It occurs to him that he could shrink himself down, turn himself into one of their wolf pups, curl up amongst them and live there happily for the rest of his days. He knows already that he will belong to them always. But he doesn’t, he approaches them just as he is, this thing made of darkness with those freakish yellow eyes. The palest of them looks up at him, reaches for him just as he reaches for her, and he makes his edges solid so that she can feel him. And he is overwhelmed by an emotion he has never felt before. (It is love and he thinks it comes from his own heart but it comes from hers and this is the only way he will ever feel it, Jamie.)
“Hello,” he whispers to her and then moves onto the next, a girl the color of slate. A girl the exact color that her parents’ soft edges made the first time they ever combined. He gently touches her head, too, feels time shift just barely around them. “Hello,” he whispers to her, as well. And then, finally, the darkest of them. Darkness tinged in red and when he touches her, he swears he can feel bones murmur beneath his feet. “Hello,” he murmurs against her brow and then retreats, feeling as if he has overstayed his welcome in the daughters’ space.
He strays to Beyza’s side then, heart hammering, muscles trembling. “Have you thought of names?” he asks her, not bothering to hide the quivering in his voice.
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD
@[Beyza]