It's the kind of thing that, Ruka thinks, other people might not get. The ones who've only been here a short time, or have gone only through losses, the regular grievings. After all — having someone you love come back into your life should be a straight-forward, happy occasion. But it isn't so simple as that.
She can feel it, in the warmth of his arm pressed against her ribs, in the weight of his chest and the drum of his heart pressed against her back, the way he swells and collapses for steady breath. This kind of gratitude, this quiet cherishing of nothing extraordinary — it's the kind of thing someone might expect after a loss, or in the recovering stages of grief.
But this is what many of them don't understand: that's what this is. Reuniting with someone you've lost for so long, seeing again the face of someone you love, who is the same as you remember, who remembers you, who still cares for you, there is a strange, nameless sister of grief that comes in tow. It resurrects the pain of the loss from that time, in a way, and it reminds of all the hurt and the grieving that followed; it doesn't quite make the pain seem pointless, or stupid, or overdramatic, but it casts those old feelings in a different light. Do you remember how broken up you were? Do you remember your regrets? Do you remember the promises you made, the things you swore to do, to say? Will you do right, this time? It brings regret for the time they were gone, for the things that they missed — grief for the life lived in their absence.
It's a feeling Ruka is well familiar with, now. She wonders a little, as she scrubs her free hand through his unruly mess of hair, how well-acquainted he is with this; she wonders if he remembers anything she tried to tell him, back when the loss was fresh.
Probably not, but maybe it doesn't matter. They weren't the same people they are now. ]
Alright, [ a murmur of response, fingers coiling around locks of hair, and then combing once more loose. ] Think you'll be able to get up again, when it gets here? Or are you just gonna fall asleep, and make me do it?
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-10-21 06:28 am (UTC)It's the kind of thing that, Ruka thinks, other people might not get. The ones who've only been here a short time, or have gone only through losses, the regular grievings. After all — having someone you love come back into your life should be a straight-forward, happy occasion. But it isn't so simple as that.
She can feel it, in the warmth of his arm pressed against her ribs, in the weight of his chest and the drum of his heart pressed against her back, the way he swells and collapses for steady breath. This kind of gratitude, this quiet cherishing of nothing extraordinary — it's the kind of thing someone might expect after a loss, or in the recovering stages of grief.
But this is what many of them don't understand: that's what this is. Reuniting with someone you've lost for so long, seeing again the face of someone you love, who is the same as you remember, who remembers you, who still cares for you, there is a strange, nameless sister of grief that comes in tow. It resurrects the pain of the loss from that time, in a way, and it reminds of all the hurt and the grieving that followed; it doesn't quite make the pain seem pointless, or stupid, or overdramatic, but it casts those old feelings in a different light. Do you remember how broken up you were? Do you remember your regrets? Do you remember the promises you made, the things you swore to do, to say? Will you do right, this time? It brings regret for the time they were gone, for the things that they missed — grief for the life lived in their absence.
It's a feeling Ruka is well familiar with, now. She wonders a little, as she scrubs her free hand through his unruly mess of hair, how well-acquainted he is with this; she wonders if he remembers anything she tried to tell him, back when the loss was fresh.
Probably not, but maybe it doesn't matter. They weren't the same people they are now. ]
Alright, [ a murmur of response, fingers coiling around locks of hair, and then combing once more loose. ] Think you'll be able to get up again, when it gets here? Or are you just gonna fall asleep, and make me do it?
[ Even the teasing is more gentle than usual. ]