[ maybe - maybe he's finally starting to get through? just a little. he shifts a little in his seat, and covers yves' hand gently with his own. ]
I know it is. [ empathy, again - it aches in those two words, all concern and care. ] But, that has its repercussions, does it not? That devastates you. And - though you will shield those who care for you from committing a grave act, instead we are hurt to see how badly completing that act hurt you. You can say that it is not a comparative pain, but... for someone like me, and for many of us, it is. The people I have come to call my friends are precious to me beyond compare, and as badly as it hurts you to see us suffer, it hurts me to watch the same for you.
I hope... perhaps you will believe it especially, because it is coming from me. [ there's this tiny pulse of his emotions, a thread that has been faint, just barely there but never gone at every moment of this week. it's more visible, now. loneliness, bird-bone-hollowness. ]
But you are not alone any longer, Yves. You do not have to be. You do not have to bear the brunt and the weight by yourself, when there are so, so many hands here that will carry it side by side with you. We can share the load. We can share the grief. Perhaps not in the killing blow, but in the knowledge of what had to come, and in the discussion of its weight and heft, and in the long moments before and after.
no subject
I know it is. [ empathy, again - it aches in those two words, all concern and care. ] But, that has its repercussions, does it not? That devastates you. And - though you will shield those who care for you from committing a grave act, instead we are hurt to see how badly completing that act hurt you. You can say that it is not a comparative pain, but... for someone like me, and for many of us, it is. The people I have come to call my friends are precious to me beyond compare, and as badly as it hurts you to see us suffer, it hurts me to watch the same for you.
I hope... perhaps you will believe it especially, because it is coming from me. [ there's this tiny pulse of his emotions, a thread that has been faint, just barely there but never gone at every moment of this week. it's more visible, now. loneliness, bird-bone-hollowness. ]
But you are not alone any longer, Yves. You do not have to be. You do not have to bear the brunt and the weight by yourself, when there are so, so many hands here that will carry it side by side with you. We can share the load. We can share the grief. Perhaps not in the killing blow, but in the knowledge of what had to come, and in the discussion of its weight and heft, and in the long moments before and after.