When you reach a certain age, tears become girlish. Weak. You only cry if you’re gay. As Linus carries his blanket and sucks his thumb, so your tears mark you.
You stop crying; you become a man.
You hide your vulnerability behind the heavy barrel of your gun, the thumb you once sucked on to chase away demons holds the weapon steady while you slay your demons and your conscience. And when the nightmares come you don’t cry either, you bury them in a flood of sensory overload as you hold your wife’s body close and hear her gasping into your ear. Her skin is slick with sweat and her damp hair brushes your neck.
When the sun rises and your son is dead, you don’t cry.
When the world doesn’t end and you come home alive, your wife has left you. The bitter liquid drowns your tears in a flood of empty bottles.
Despite your convictions and your desperations, you’re still a child inside, clutching helplessly at the Linus blanket, wrapping it tightly and guiltily around you in the dark where no one can see you. Afterall, you sleep alone these days.
In the fresh morning that smells of dew and a gentle mist, you remember the childish delight with which you loved fairy tales. But you are a man, and men are not made to love fairy tales.
Guilty pleasures when she smiles at you. When her eyes sparkle and she outwits you. When she explains something to you for the third time, but you understood before she started.
When you look at her and demands she thinks of something to save you. To save the world.
She saves the world every time without fail, and she is your safety.
I'm looking for some constructive Crit on this one - I'm not happy with the ending and don't know what else to do with it. Suggestions, advice and ANY comments would be appreciated, especially about the ending. Any other comments, feel free to leave them too!
I've x-posted to a few communities. Sorry for the spam.