And Yet, Alas, I Invoke You
Dean & Castiel. ~500 words. PG13. Warning: poetry i guess, feelings.
this is ours, to touch one another this lightly; the gods
can press down harder upon us. But this is the gods' affair.
i never meant for you to mean to me what you mean to me. we were allied against each other, which nurtured a recklessness in the way we asked each other for the most destructive things. cut this creature apart. betray your family. dredge up hell. exile yourself.
you have crippled me by knowing me. surely i never meant to be distracted. surely you thought you were alone. if you are my exception then i am your coincidence, and surely we have only been trying to get back to what we lost, which we began losing long ago.
i have not found it again.
you ignored my silence in the most careful of ways, for it was the thing to which you were most attuned. you fear too much, so i thought silence contented you, that it came not from a cold distracted heart, but from your own, your habit of confusing pain with weakness, your tendency to conflate sacrifice with justice. you took one look at your heartache and called it fate. this is a common mistake. that's right: channel love into battle strategies. that's right: divert love from tenderness and call it war. surely it’s your job to weather this alone. that's right: surely no one else has your back because you’ve learned about the world through an angry and distant god, and it’s only right that you protect me from yourself, because you mistake penitence for justice, and you are well on your way to mistaking regrets for love.
the myth about the flood in every desert culture goes like this: “it will save us. it will destroy us all.” we have overestimated our knowledge of each other, our willingness to breach and be breached. i’m reminded of generations of rivers carving canyons into rocks, but i am only your first deluge. you thought water had no strength because it is nothing like the knife.
there are not enough memories for me to cast into the fire but i think they might end up there anyway, subject as everything is to the tyranny of time. entropy is a constant. your coat over the back of a chair. your tie balled up in my hand. the word in your language for ‘light’, which you taught me in the gloom of three a.m. when i couldn’t sleep and you couldn’t fly any further. two fingers on my forehead. two fingers on my mouth, the word for ‘silence’. then, the word for ‘love’.
and now, as always, the fire.
i never let myself hope i’d be forgiven. i have already mourned you. i have buried you in my heart, the only hallowed ground i have left, and you, not realizing you’re dead, wondering at the grave dirt, wondering why it’s dark in here. and i, not realizing you’re not dead, wondering why we cannot breathe.
i can be more than the distance you have placed between us.
[originally posted at http://whynot.dreamwidth.org/226792.htm