she’s been sitting in silence ; soaking it up, lips pressed into a firm line, afraid that if they part ( even just the smallest amount ) that something emotional, unwanted .. something so out of character might slip out. but the lack of sound is eating away at her, causing her thoughts to grow LOUDER, dig deeper ( a knife twisting, stabbing repeatedly at her heart. ) ‘ perhaps some women just aren’t made to be m o t h e r s. ‘ barren, they said. she had just found out that morning. pansy had never particularly wanted children, but .. the thought that she had no say in the matter … hurt.
Trouble with coping, they called it with their ‘professional’ tones && long forgotten degrees that he could hardly care about. The slightest of movement made him tense, the sound of voices often sent him spiraling. It was only in her presence that he’d felt calm, not even the loving touch of a mother had brought him back from the ghosts that still roamed the halls of his mind. How audacious that her words had brought some P E A C E to him. Her suffering shouldn’t cause him such relief, ( because deny it she would, but that’s what it was ) but knowing that she would be his, for even a moment longer, ANCHOR for more than just a few years more. His back was to her, as he so often would turn against her voice ( if only to test the trust that still hung in question with the remaining population. ) A test, of sorts, like a trust fall in therapy sessions that never worked. ❛ We’re all meant for something– I’m told. Others; greatness. Us; well take a look at us, Pans. Damaged. Why bloody bother dwellin’ on the things we can’t have. They keep pilin’ up whether you want them to or not. ❜
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