the young and rich
Nov. 18th, 2011 06:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crusadedI can't sleep.
While the sun has yet to dip below the horizon, it's been days since I had any semblance of rest. Pain and fatigue have worn mostly down, only a light thrum remaining in the air, pressing against my temples and forcing every thought to a roadblock. Every action is stilled by a need not to interrupt that steady ebb and crash of water that sounds. I can't decide if it's my imagination filling the silence, or if the beach is truly so close. I lie on the sofa, a T-shirt several times too large loose over my shoulders, the first serviceable item of clothing retrieved from the box. I should check on my suit. Make sure everything is in working order, and every weapon accounted for.
Instead, I'm waiting until Damian gets home, thinking more carefully through Stephanie's words. At least when it comes to this, it's likely that she knows better than I do. She's spent more hours with him and can see through the quick tongue that he uses to lash out at everything that isn't to his satisfaction. And, if nothing else, discovering the fact that I've been missing to him for months, dead for months, better shapes my perspective.
Here is an opportunity to make an effort I've owed for some time.
While the sun has yet to dip below the horizon, it's been days since I had any semblance of rest. Pain and fatigue have worn mostly down, only a light thrum remaining in the air, pressing against my temples and forcing every thought to a roadblock. Every action is stilled by a need not to interrupt that steady ebb and crash of water that sounds. I can't decide if it's my imagination filling the silence, or if the beach is truly so close. I lie on the sofa, a T-shirt several times too large loose over my shoulders, the first serviceable item of clothing retrieved from the box. I should check on my suit. Make sure everything is in working order, and every weapon accounted for.
Instead, I'm waiting until Damian gets home, thinking more carefully through Stephanie's words. At least when it comes to this, it's likely that she knows better than I do. She's spent more hours with him and can see through the quick tongue that he uses to lash out at everything that isn't to his satisfaction. And, if nothing else, discovering the fact that I've been missing to him for months, dead for months, better shapes my perspective.
Here is an opportunity to make an effort I've owed for some time.