I sit and stare.
Really, saying everything I cant. And its hard. To meet that stare, and ask those questions that I know I will never get a truthful answer to. Even though my heart aches for them, and I could stare into those eyes for eternity. Its a rage I deserve, that Ive worked for, and yet will never experience. It burns itself out too quickly.
I fought hard. My fists were bloody by the end of this fight, and I was still six feet back. He looks back, and beckons.
Its only a little further. I havent got far to go.
But when Im not looking, he takes more steps. The wounds from the battle are becoming fatal, and there are not many that can help me.
She holds my hands and fights with all she has, her raw fury a menace I could never accomplish. With a snarl, she calls him back, but I hear the desperation in her voice; she needs the proof. She needs to know she fought for something. That we fought for something.
He keeps walking, and as I see her scowl, the tears are clearer than her mask. As we watch him go, she tells me to shut him out. I know her heart is heavy, and I can see it in her eyes. The blood is still fresh on our hands, and it will never really go anywhere. I try to wash it off, relentlessly, but I know that when the next battle comes, Ill stand and fight. Just like she does. For each other. For everything we really cared about.
For him.
Ive come back to this moment, where Im staring. Those leaves roam my seas, and they tell me nothing; where once I could always see through those eyes. I realise my hands are covered in blood again, while he remains smooth, unblemished, perfect.
And I didnt recognise what was sitting in front of me.
What hurt was the familiarity with which I was used to the battle and the outcome. What hurt was the fact that we could never stop. What hurt was watching her eyes as the family fell apart, and the tears in eyes that should never feel the salt.
What hurt was looking into the eyes of the man that should have been my father, and the regret in his eyes, as well as mine.
What hurt was the sorrow in her face, and the resolve not to fight anymore. The fiercest of fighters. My sister.
What hurts was that you did not see a day of combat. You sat and watched from time to time, and if you didnt, you found some way to occupy the space. A space where once upon a time, we were inseparable.
And those eyes are in mine now, burning holes as if they dont understand the sorrow in my eyes. As if they truly, after the war created around them, did not understand the problem.
I reach over and take her hand. It all starts with little steps. I break the contact with those eyes, and I tug her away, from the seat, out the door.
It all must begin with little steps.
He sits and stares.
