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| <<<>>> |
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IReturn |
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| Created by Decius at
| [+ favourites]
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I look at my hands after... only after I am struck by a familiar feeling. Some youthful innocence, a peaceful excitement about the freedom to engage in something for the next while.
That there would be no work, no interuptions, and no knocks on the door. That no one would expect of me anything i am unable to provide, that I would fear not feeling guilty or worthless.
That there is a whole life ahead of me, and the singular effect of this one night filled with a slumbering mind, of escape from the spikes of my world, where I will stare at a screen and enter a new universe.
I look at my hands, and I try to understand, and I do understand, that these hands, these muscles, this skin... it was there that night, and it is here this night. That they are beautiful hands. A human's hands.
I am saddened because I still have a boy's hands... small and delicate. Very young looking. And as the rest of my body fades and ages, my hand remains a symbol that I was and am a boy.
I was never a man and i think I will die a boy, because my hands, like my mind, will always seek the simple pleasures in life, and examine the wall from the safety of a hole in the face of threats, rather than grow into something of a beast. |
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| Created by Decius at
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