all my grief says the same thing: this isnβt how itβs supposed to be. and the world laughs, holds my hope by my throat, and says: but this is how it is.
γ €β Oh, she can't believe he's *home. Absolutely squeezing the daylights out of him.
γ €β βOh, you're safe - you're not hurt are you? Oh, Gods I'm squeezing you and you could be hurt-β Shoving him back just to cup his face. Mom Panicβ’οΈ.
β
whooakay β suppose he shouldβve expected that . . .
and to be fair β he hugs her back the same way he did when he was still a little boy who needed his mother .
β
β β old friend β (we were friends once.)
β β old friend β (maybe even lovers once.)
β β old friend β (you say it so softly with too much knowing in your voice.)
β β old friend β (who left first .α£ i donβt remember now.)
"I believe-" Still holding the sign up as he stands next to her, "-that you could fund any project in Dol-Makjar by putting out a calendar with you flexing in it."