when all the ships have turned to ash
i will be left unharmed, alone
i will be left unharmed, alone
If I could hear her thoughts—and perhaps, in a way, I can see them in the way that she looks up at me—I might tell her I am a poor friend. Children, even the most stoic, cannot entirely hide the depth of their eyes, the want there for whatever it is they seek to grasp. If I were a stronger man, I might turn away. I might be cruel now rather than in the future, to save her the pain of knowing me. But I cannot. In part, because of her mother and the way Elena’s eyes stare at me through her daughter’s face.
Or the courage, she says, and in her voice the severity of men’s cowardice is lessoned. She laughs and I cannot help the way my lips twitch into a smile. “I will not hate you,” I say quietly, but just as seriously as her concern deserves. I swore her mother I would never make promises: but now I say, “I promise.”
I ought to have waited, I realize, when she delivers one herself. I won’t ever hate you.
The words take me aback. I do not expect them; and I know I do not deserve them. Yet, there is nothing I can say and when she continues to kill me softly I can only smile. Her words are a reminder of how undeserving of these sentiments I am. I won’t even ever forget about you. You won’t forget about me, right?
She is small, and quiet, and the kiss against my cheek is as innocent as a butterfly’s wing. I do not smile now. No. My eyes find her, and they are to somber; they are too serious. “You’ve made it impossible,” I say and then smile, to lesson the severity. (I think again of how this is the moment: this is the moment to say something short, and insensitive, and to turn away. And yet I cannot; even as I understand my own nature, I understand my weakness). I do not have the courage.
“I won’t forget you. We’ll be the best secret friends,” I promise, with a smile. It strikes me in that moment how unalike Elena she seems; how bold and innocent and strangely serious. It strikes me, as well, that her entire life is a lie.
Her entire life.
“It was a pleasure, Elliana. I’ll keep the secret if you do.” I wink and turn away. I do not continue to search, after her absence. I only find myself wondering what Boudika would have thought of her, would have thought of me.
There was once, before everything went awry, Bondike had said: You aren’t your father. You deserve happiness—and, well. If you were to have children, you would never treat them like he treated you.
No, I think. I would be even more cowardly. I would not be able to raise them and still ache for their presence in my life. I cannot remember the last time I had a conversation with something—someone—so innocent. It feels like breaking the surface of the water for air.
I did not find who I was looking for. But I certainly found something else.
☼
Or the courage, she says, and in her voice the severity of men’s cowardice is lessoned. She laughs and I cannot help the way my lips twitch into a smile. “I will not hate you,” I say quietly, but just as seriously as her concern deserves. I swore her mother I would never make promises: but now I say, “I promise.”
I ought to have waited, I realize, when she delivers one herself. I won’t ever hate you.
The words take me aback. I do not expect them; and I know I do not deserve them. Yet, there is nothing I can say and when she continues to kill me softly I can only smile. Her words are a reminder of how undeserving of these sentiments I am. I won’t even ever forget about you. You won’t forget about me, right?
She is small, and quiet, and the kiss against my cheek is as innocent as a butterfly’s wing. I do not smile now. No. My eyes find her, and they are to somber; they are too serious. “You’ve made it impossible,” I say and then smile, to lesson the severity. (I think again of how this is the moment: this is the moment to say something short, and insensitive, and to turn away. And yet I cannot; even as I understand my own nature, I understand my weakness). I do not have the courage.
“I won’t forget you. We’ll be the best secret friends,” I promise, with a smile. It strikes me in that moment how unalike Elena she seems; how bold and innocent and strangely serious. It strikes me, as well, that her entire life is a lie.
Her entire life.
“It was a pleasure, Elliana. I’ll keep the secret if you do.” I wink and turn away. I do not continue to search, after her absence. I only find myself wondering what Boudika would have thought of her, would have thought of me.
There was once, before everything went awry, Bondike had said: You aren’t your father. You deserve happiness—and, well. If you were to have children, you would never treat them like he treated you.
No, I think. I would be even more cowardly. I would not be able to raise them and still ache for their presence in my life. I cannot remember the last time I had a conversation with something—someone—so innocent. It feels like breaking the surface of the water for air.
I did not find who I was looking for. But I certainly found something else.
@Elliana"speaks" space for notes
