Work Text:
take a mirror to the past and see not good, not bad, victorious
nothing but a man, twisted round his own silhouette, parallel with an unrealised future.
mind his name, for he chose it like a knife: hilt-first, then a thumb down the blade,
tracing the cutting edge of letters and finding them sharp.
sharp is safe when handled well; when not, sharp is:
i…i love you on a beach, hair whipping in the the wind, and:
i win as loss gains new definition, and:
i'll see you again, mister spurning forever in favour of freedom, and:
no, no, no. please. please. no. no in the closest thing to home—never again.
remember his face; this, he props up as a mirage with teeth as trees,
a smile as the sun, and worse still, step closer;
find the sand beneath the smirk. know the pleasant pool was tears,
drained selfishly by i’m fine. i’m always fine. take him at his word; don't follow visions.
his word is run and his words are many, but know them to be obfuscation—
he does not lie. he tells untruths. he does not tell the truth. he…
finds himself on the floor of late; here, it’s safe to gaze upon him through a pinhole:
shielded, distanced. an unfulfilling glimpse, drop the guard, tiptoe to his side.
not at his left, held for her;
not at his right, held for him;
not at his head—lax it may seem, he is not at peace, and his thoughts are of them.
never stand at his feet. if he blinks, silently retreat back
to
a
quiet
corner;
he has surrounded himself in angles, deemed them comfort,
plastered them on his body until everything is a perfect fit and nothing feels right.
pity him as breathing, and breathe as though the air is ash;
he lights fires in his wake. this is why he runs. this is not why he runs.
when he walks, he sees. don’t let him. pick a path and set him on it;
pick a flower and tuck it behind his ear; pick a time and stick to the chime—
he’ll flinch at the gong of the present, shoulders up, head down,
eyes rocking on an orbit even he does not understand.
never try to understand him; he is changing. he is the same.
he knows re-invention better than consistency, and he knows it like a veil.
trust him as a serpent, and always stand out of reach;
whip-fast and deceptively strong, he thinks an embrace is one of conscious constriction,
of choked gasps, bloody lips and blue skin—
blue. he follows it like a star guiding him towards
a home destroyed not at his hand but by it. when possible, let him go.
when impossible, hold him in return. match his devotion; he will stop,
and he will stare, and he will rub his arms to covet warmth unexpected and welcome
as much as not. at this moment, learn from him. take a mirror to the past.
run.