Work Text:
Sometimes you dream of your mother walking away as the sun died below the horizon. Sometimes you dream of a father whose face you can only imagine.
Tonight: glimpses of violet. Fragments of poor English.
He struggled to keep the life he was so hellbent on losing. And for a moment, you thought that maybe he didn’t want to go. Maybe the desperation was the result of a sudden desire to live.
It never gets easier, the leaving. The grief devours you whole. But there’s comfort in the familiarity. In knowing that you’re at least promised the illusion of stability.