There are scars all along your face, downwards, creeping down your neck, and I trace them with fingers (light, you’re holding your breath, but I can feel the pulse under my fingertip) and then lower yet. They stop, and I look up at you, but you turn your eyes away. I force your chin up to look at me – your eyes are brown (they used to be soft, but now there is only pain and emotion you do not want to show). You look at me, but you see nothing these days, I know that.
“Do not do this,” I say. I know you will not listen, but I plead anyway – I must, after all; I came all this way, and in the silence I think I can hear our little girl breathing in the cot (or I dream it, maybe, and hear what I want). “Do not.”
But you have changed, and we both know that. Your mother might have thought me shallow – but it is you who are. It is you who could not stand the force of your family’s expectations and left (just like your brothers, all of you, cowards) and it is you, now, who buckles under the weight of family (if you did not want it, why, why, did you not say so?) “Do not.” You will not listen.
She starts crying, and you go to her. She will grow, I will grow, you? You will not because you do not want to - you want the past too strongly. I fall onto the bed, thinking of brown eyes that danced under the Egyptian heat.
no subject
There are scars all along your face, downwards, creeping down your neck, and I trace them with fingers (light, you’re holding your breath, but I can feel the pulse under my fingertip) and then lower yet. They stop, and I look up at you, but you turn your eyes away. I force your chin up to look at me – your eyes are brown (they used to be soft, but now there is only pain and emotion you do not want to show). You look at me, but you see nothing these days, I know that.
“Do not do this,” I say. I know you will not listen, but I plead anyway – I must, after all; I came all this way, and in the silence I think I can hear our little girl breathing in the cot (or I dream it, maybe, and hear what I want). “Do not.”
But you have changed, and we both know that. Your mother might have thought me shallow – but it is you who are. It is you who could not stand the force of your family’s expectations and left (just like your brothers, all of you, cowards) and it is you, now, who buckles under the weight of family (if you did not want it, why, why, did you not say so?) “Do not.” You will not listen.
She starts crying, and you go to her. She will grow, I will grow, you? You will not because you do not want to - you want the past too strongly. I fall onto the bed, thinking of brown eyes that danced under the Egyptian heat.
Mia/Slytherin/270