#lightpaved

who is laim

are u ok

▏▶︎Ŧ-И◀︎▕

                                                                     the dreams he remembers with crystal clarity are the ones he wishes he didn’t remember at all. in the darkness of their barracks, squeezed into the too small cot, his mind becomes a maze, a labyrinth of unlit corners where information he’s gleaned throughout the day twists itself, wraps tendrils of razor sharp wires around its own throat———

           ( the faceless famines on ibaar and adarlon possess bodies; bloated stomachs and ribs showing through paper thin, flaking skin. sunken eyes doused with suffering look upon you for mercy yet your blaster is unable to fire. you are sorry but your regret is voiceless. )

                                                                   the dreams he remembers are golden hued in the beginning until violent red seeps through. angry and unforgiving, they slash apart the tranquil sanctuary of a childhood he must’ve wished he had ( because for as long as he remembers, finn was raised amongst soldiers, he was raised as a number ) to reveal the monochrome sheen underneath. dreams that remind him, as he wakes with airless lungs and heart in his throat, that this is not home. it must be out there, somewhere, but he’s stopped looking.

           but finn must’ve had good dreams. there are mornings where he wakes at peace with the world. the universe touches him, a soft hand on his shoulder, the flash of possibility before his eyes: a future that’s sweet on his tongue, carefree and full of laughter. it’s warm and peppered with the corners of familiar smiles. these are the dreams that suffuse through his body and into his heart, storing itself in this little vial called hope tucked within the ivory of his chest. it’s a pity these dreams are rare on the frontlines of war.

good riddance