Remember this for me, ya'll?
He almost kneels to hug her, catching himself even as his knees start to buckle.
He won't.
He can't.
He's afraid that if he hits his knees now, after all that he's shouldered standing on his own two feet, he won't find the strength to stand again.
Instead, he ruffles her hair, because he wasn't the bets with words and they never seemed to mean much to her anyway.
He wants so much to turn back around, to look behind and say goodbye. It aches in his chest like when all he'd wanted was to die, but with stabbing sharpness in place of echoing emptiness.
Gentle fingers slip from his, and he can feel the sadness as clearly as if he'd seen it painted on the other's face. It's all the goodbye he can give, because if he stops now, looks back, hesitates ... he'll spend eternity grinding dirt into leather (skipping ahead because this part's being difficult)
He's never been a praying man, but he figures trying now is one of the smaller sins of his life. He prays that this heart of his remains unchanged. That's all he could ask for and more than he deserves, but he can't stop himself from wanting it. And he doesn't know it, but the eyes watching him see his stiff and stubborn, determined posture for what it is. The cant of his neck is a bowed head, the hands held stiffly at his side are ones pressed together in prayer, the bend of his knees as he walks forward is kneeling before an altar.
His is a soul on its knees though his body stands tall.
(Just trying to remember this while waiting to decide on some key points for how this will happen and go. Left all the names out on purpose for the time being. Anyone that wants to help me with this psyaing about prayer I'm trying to remember or with the part directly following "leather" .... YOU ARE SO WELCOME TO HELP PLSKTHX.)
He won't.
He can't.
He's afraid that if he hits his knees now, after all that he's shouldered standing on his own two feet, he won't find the strength to stand again.
Instead, he ruffles her hair, because he wasn't the bets with words and they never seemed to mean much to her anyway.
He wants so much to turn back around, to look behind and say goodbye. It aches in his chest like when all he'd wanted was to die, but with stabbing sharpness in place of echoing emptiness.
Gentle fingers slip from his, and he can feel the sadness as clearly as if he'd seen it painted on the other's face. It's all the goodbye he can give, because if he stops now, looks back, hesitates ... he'll spend eternity grinding dirt into leather (skipping ahead because this part's being difficult)
He's never been a praying man, but he figures trying now is one of the smaller sins of his life. He prays that this heart of his remains unchanged. That's all he could ask for and more than he deserves, but he can't stop himself from wanting it. And he doesn't know it, but the eyes watching him see his stiff and stubborn, determined posture for what it is. The cant of his neck is a bowed head, the hands held stiffly at his side are ones pressed together in prayer, the bend of his knees as he walks forward is kneeling before an altar.
His is a soul on its knees though his body stands tall.
(Just trying to remember this while waiting to decide on some key points for how this will happen and go. Left all the names out on purpose for the time being. Anyone that wants to help me with this psyaing about prayer I'm trying to remember or with the part directly following "leather" .... YOU ARE SO WELCOME TO HELP PLSKTHX.)
