They seem to have that in common, don't they? These places we keep finding ourselves in. Prisons with no cages, no walls. None except for those in our own minds. What a feat.
Are flowers ripped from soil as punishment? Do we devour the animals that were killed to feed us as retribution? Or is their suffering a part of something greater?
I say it's necessary. And I think it can be beautiful.
Let it come, love. [ Recalling the conversation they once had, ] It's your turn to open the door.
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Maybe. Someday. It's not safe here, right now.
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It just feels
Worse here. Somehow.
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They seem to have that in common, don't they? These places we keep finding ourselves in. Prisons with no cages, no walls. None except for those in our own minds. What a feat.
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It keeps building the walls higher. I can feel them getting higher.
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[ Saltburnt has been an embrace that held them tighter when someone tried to pull away. ]
What else can you feel?
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This is more like being inside a stone. It doesn't move and it won't let us move. It won't let us go.
A lot. I can't always remember it all, though. I say things and then I don't know I've said them.
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Something is speaking through you. What is it saying?
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Did it seem to be in pain?
It tells me people's regrets. Their doubts. Their guilt.
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That sounds troublesome. One should be busy enough dealing with their own.
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It hurts. Feeling all of that, it hurts.
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And you can't make it quiet?
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A punishment. The punishment of a parent who doesn't know how to be kind and firm, yet.
Not for long. Saying what I see helps, for a time, but it always comes back.
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I say it's necessary. And I think it can be beautiful.
Let it come, love. [ Recalling the conversation they once had, ] It's your turn to open the door.
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but, finally:] I'm scared.
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I'd go with you if I could.
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Wait until the hunt's over.
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What happens when the hunt is over?
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memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris. right?
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My dear Death is with me. When the time comes, make him proud. He'll take care of you.
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