[ it's fun to text people so that you can dress your pain up as anger and hope that nobody picks up on the underpinnings of the distress you're feeling--especially when you're a man who's not used to distress. or pain. or feeling.
one wound lances another, and Gilgamesh is steadfast in wielding the blade. sometimes it has to hurt before it can begin to knit. ]
And perhaps you're right. Perhaps the good nature of the city will come together and save Sam and it'll all be something we can laugh about in the twilight of a job well done.
But if he dies because I didn't try everything--if he leaves me for a second time in this lifetime--I cannot promise there will be anything rational left in me.
Sampo carries some blame in the matter. He's suffered alone and downplayed what's been happening. People do not take him seriously because he's a conman and a trickster. The lives of others are insignificant to me, but mean everything to them; thus our worlds turn in opposite spheres and it makes sense that things slip into the cracks.
If I must burn the world down to see him restored, than he and I will reckon with that aftermath in the flames.
I'd prefer to see cute photos from your wedding in three or four years while Sampo whines at me because I still won't call him my boyfriend in public.
[ he hates this feeling of being so human and having it escape but what's he supposed to do--tell people who see him regularly how he's feeling so that they can be aware he's got cracks in his armor? no thank you. ]
private
[ it's fun to text people so that you can dress your pain up as anger and hope that nobody picks up on the underpinnings of the distress you're feeling--especially when you're a man who's not used to distress. or pain. or feeling.
one wound lances another, and Gilgamesh is steadfast in wielding the blade. sometimes it has to hurt before it can begin to knit. ]
And perhaps you're right. Perhaps the good nature of the city will come together and save Sam and it'll all be something we can laugh about in the twilight of a job well done.
But if he dies because I didn't try everything--if he leaves me for a second time in this lifetime--I cannot promise there will be anything rational left in me.
Sampo carries some blame in the matter. He's suffered alone and downplayed what's been happening. People do not take him seriously because he's a conman and a trickster. The lives of others are insignificant to me, but mean everything to them; thus our worlds turn in opposite spheres and it makes sense that things slip into the cracks.
If I must burn the world down to see him restored, than he and I will reckon with that aftermath in the flames.
I'd prefer to see cute photos from your wedding in three or four years while Sampo whines at me because I still won't call him my boyfriend in public.
[ he hates this feeling of being so human and having it escape but what's he supposed to do--tell people who see him regularly how he's feeling so that they can be aware he's got cracks in his armor? no thank you. ]