#backburns

a burdened frustration, evident in all ways & in none: in the furthered tightness of his fists, in the way his hands are not clasped but folded behind his back, in the subtleties accentuated not by expression but by variation. he stood, hovering above his work, fixed there --- suspended in an almost startling stillness, an unease of silence: his hands shift, briefly, & his gaze remains hardened, focused upon the papers neatly spread across the table. he’s been there for hours, now, simmering in a complete quietude; this blockade for ambition gutting him, pulling through synapses for an ingrown anger, always restrained but seeking freedom. suddenly, there is a sweep of blunt emotion, cutting outwards with a hiss ---

this is an old charm, a reminiscent parallel of his younger years. for once, this is a TRUTH in exaltation, this happiness, this lack of loneliness. ( self-isolationist, have you finally broken your habit? ) the absence of the children tugs at his heart, yes, but the returned presence of a brother he has not appreciated for decades ( & has only now begun to truly regret ) offers the beginning of a REDEMPTION of which he is finally keenly aware. his hands unclasp from behind his back, & one reaches outwards, hesitant to rest upon a shoulder of his oldest friend. it hovers there for a brief moment, fingers twitching, before he decides not to follow through, & withdraws his hands behind his back once more, settling into something more familiar in comfort.