A gift for him, or for me? The softness of his voice is strange. I -
"Oh," I say, and my voice is soft too. He is - he looks -
I wish I could make him less sad, even though the sadness itself is beautiful. There's no consolation, is there, for what he is.
He looks less like a man - a human - than the idea of one, the lines and angles but none of the meat and sweat. "You are a strange thing," I tell him gently, and touch the skin of his hand. The bones there are very fine. "Thank you." It is a gift for me, even if he didn't mean it to be. "This is more beautiful than the others."
Because it is him - is it, because him is wrong too, though it sounds like an object and this is very much a being. إبليس. The skin almost glows, like a smokeless fire. It makes my eyes feel sore, like staring into a light. Not human, far less human than me even in my making. It's like being in love with the sea, or the sky, and the scope of that makes me feel dizzy. But I don't look away. Can you see how I feel?
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Date: 2011-11-06 09:23 pm (UTC)"Oh," I say, and my voice is soft too. He is - he looks -
I wish I could make him less sad, even though the sadness itself is beautiful. There's no consolation, is there, for what he is.
He looks less like a man - a human - than the idea of one, the lines and angles but none of the meat and sweat. "You are a strange thing," I tell him gently, and touch the skin of his hand. The bones there are very fine. "Thank you." It is a gift for me, even if he didn't mean it to be. "This is more beautiful than the others."
Because it is him - is it, because him is wrong too, though it sounds like an object and this is very much a being. إبليس. The skin almost glows, like a smokeless fire. It makes my eyes feel sore, like staring into a light. Not human, far less human than me even in my making. It's like being in love with the sea, or the sky, and the scope of that makes me feel dizzy. But I don't look away. Can you see how I feel?