cont. / @jetshoes
slowing down like this is so not his normal gig. it's an uncomfortable, deep breath into lungs that have been too acquainted to rabbit-quick, adrenaline-induced pants. without that rush of the race, the excitement of facing insurmountable feats — what is he to do, then? who is he, then? he's forced into a moment of stillness. needed as it may be, this respite stretches at the corners of his being. as uncomfortable as it is, his company eases these growing pains.
and how could he deny this view? sprawled out before them, a magnitude of beauty, so untouched that were he to reach out, he might ruin it in his haste. so he sits back with them; savors the milliseconds. the senses draw to her when she speaks. ears and eyes flick over, focusing on the words treated as treasures in their raw honesty.
" i think ... " his haste has lead him far enough tonight. sonic halts. thinks. starts again. " i think some wounds cut so deep, it feels like there's no other option than to fight your way out. ya didn't just lose her. you lost dreams, hopes, and time — all in an instant. that's too much for anyone to handle alone. "
he knows this type of grief — the type that feels more like a death of oneself than burial of another. it aches, he knows. incessantly and without ceasing, but there must be more. " that anger and turmoil you're talkin' about? that was grief. so, nah, shads. ya didn't sully her legacy. if she's anything like what you've told me, maria's memories are stronger than anything you can undo. i think in some backwards way, that anger speaks to her goodness. i think it speaks to the way you once were, too. "
