atlas,
i hope you know where you're going, but you're just as lost as me
you walk with such conviction and I'm eyes-closed following
He realized then she’d caught him in a bit of a conundrum. Chastising her for late night wanderings while also being out wandering late at night would do no more than make him a great, golden, hypocrite. She seemed nice enough, at least for the sort that one would usually find creeping around during the witching hour. Atlas dipped his head in a greeting bow, only slightly embarrassed; her giggle rendered him defenseless and tugged at his heartstrings. Like bowstrings, the counterweight heavy enough to remind him of his youth, dipped in gold and stolen away.
“This may be true,” he said to her, “but I’m sure you’ve heard the epithet about curiosity and the cat.” He comes to stand beside her, inviting her to wander with him into the night; they would be safer, at least, as a duo. He has come to accept his height deficit as a constant; he is older than her by some years but her wings are like clouds above him. It no longer bothers him. “May I ask, why are you walking about under the stars?” He hopes it is a happy story: a sense of wanderlust, a gentle curiosity.
In his experience, the things that keep us up at night tend to not be happy stories.
“This may be true,” he said to her, “but I’m sure you’ve heard the epithet about curiosity and the cat.” He comes to stand beside her, inviting her to wander with him into the night; they would be safer, at least, as a duo. He has come to accept his height deficit as a constant; he is older than her by some years but her wings are like clouds above him. It no longer bothers him. “May I ask, why are you walking about under the stars?” He hopes it is a happy story: a sense of wanderlust, a gentle curiosity.
In his experience, the things that keep us up at night tend to not be happy stories.
@Willoughby | "Speech."
