It was almost like an out of body experience. As I felt our limbs tangled together like an intricate puzzle, I could see them, at every angle we happened to weave ourselves together. Is this what it's supposed to be like?
I could see myself lying next to him, carefully held like I would break at any moment. His breathing was even and shallow, his eyes delicately closed, and yet the pain still sat on his face.
For a while, I thought it was just a mask. Something he had gotten so good at over the years, a mask to show people that he was hurt just like them. And now I realize it isn't, we are so similar in this sense.
We have our own nightmares, each so different but yet effectively reducing us to a ball of yarn, layers upon layers of pain built up upon who we are meant to be. And it would take a long time to untangle the layers, but seeing his sleeping face nearly gave me hope.
Hope that we could do it together, maybe it was just a childish wish, a wish I held so deep in my heart for so long that it finally had been realized, or maybe it was real hope.
Was there ever really a difference between the two? A wish relies on hope, just as hope relies on a wish. One cannot exist without the other, a perfect balance. Just like us, the us that had never been before, the us that will be.
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raine's short stories
General Fictionjust a collection of small stories i've written! they aren't organized anyway, and don't correlate with each other.
