I feel... ( Irrelevant, inadequate, flinched. Shying, gaze drawn down. Impudent, when he steers them through the barracks without introduction, neither expecting nor stalling long enough to be led in. ) Like a bowl of water.
( His hands cup tenderly as if to illustrate it: no more than a fickle, frail, tender contortion of porcelain, barely dust motes warmed. )
Brimming. To drip droplets once is to disrupt the whole.
( And the same peace cannot be found without rippling. They cannot achieve equilibrium once more. It is... too little. Too much. He is too little and too much, at once vast, unending and diminutive in his skin. )
no subject
I feel... ( Irrelevant, inadequate, flinched. Shying, gaze drawn down. Impudent, when he steers them through the barracks without introduction, neither expecting nor stalling long enough to be led in. ) Like a bowl of water.
( His hands cup tenderly as if to illustrate it: no more than a fickle, frail, tender contortion of porcelain, barely dust motes warmed. )
Brimming. To drip droplets once is to disrupt the whole.
( And the same peace cannot be found without rippling. They cannot achieve equilibrium once more. It is... too little. Too much. He is too little and too much, at once vast, unending and diminutive in his skin. )
Best silent.