[ so life has its limits, whether it pertains to moral singularity of failing his friends or failing his ambitions. shortcomings weren't ever mutually exclusive to begin with. it was a matter of causality.
his hands clasp and unclasp, and he's ready to cast off back into the waves, rattle off some weak-kneed excuse of a work shift he doesn't have, of checking over a friend he's neglected to converse with for a solid week, of staring back at her and finding her impassive, expression resolved into one of plain indifference. at seventeen years old, he's still burdening others with the blistering deception of issues that aren't issues at all. inadequacy necessitates an intent to change, to become better, but only resuscitates panic in makoto.
and he's got one leg lifted up to the ledge to flee, mouth brimming with meek, discombobulated apologies when the sonorous implacability of her voice breaks the silence. high notes rising, low notes crooning fluid; a type of fallacy, pitches discrepant and still, still melding together.
it's reassuring that she doesn't mean to hurt him, that past the sinews and tendons of their biology that there might be a likeness in their derisive infatuation with the sea.
the ocean that they both know, similar and dissimilar at once. ]
Thank you for hearing me out, Oona.
[ his fingers scrunch down over hers, squeezing. ]
no subject
his hands clasp and unclasp, and he's ready to cast off back into the waves, rattle off some weak-kneed excuse of a work shift he doesn't have, of checking over a friend he's neglected to converse with for a solid week, of staring back at her and finding her impassive, expression resolved into one of plain indifference. at seventeen years old, he's still burdening others with the blistering deception of issues that aren't issues at all. inadequacy necessitates an intent to change, to become better, but only resuscitates panic in makoto.
and he's got one leg lifted up to the ledge to flee, mouth brimming with meek, discombobulated apologies when the sonorous implacability of her voice breaks the silence. high notes rising, low notes crooning fluid; a type of fallacy, pitches discrepant and still, still melding together.
it's reassuring that she doesn't mean to hurt him, that past the sinews and tendons of their biology that there might be a likeness in their derisive infatuation with the sea.
the ocean that they both know, similar and dissimilar at once. ]
Thank you for hearing me out, Oona.
[ his fingers scrunch down over hers, squeezing. ]
It means more than I could ever say.