(no worries, it worked out!) a gift! (also on ao3)
I dreamed about Benlian, of course. It was impossible not to; I think I used to hate it. I remember the way one faintly remembers that hideous feeling of falling in a dream and waking when one hits the ground, a sort of burrowing resentment, a sort of twisting, curling flicker of despair. But those feelings vanished, naturally, when Benlian did what he did; that kind of hold he had on me, and still has, I suppose, could excise any unnatural hatred the way I could step on an ant.
So I dreamed about Benlian. I still do, naturally. I dreamed, and sometimes in my dreams, we touched. I shall not say where or how or even why---though the why should of course be obvious---but I think I used to long for those dreams.
In them, Benlian was withering, the way he was withering in reality. He was performing a magnificent feat, and that did not cease in the dreams. Too, I think, he was aware; at least he was aware enough even in his sleep to not cease the great migration. I remember flashes of those old dreams, sometimes, and I think how lucky I was to get to be a part of it, that awesome movement, if only just for a second. For in dreams, we would touch, and I could feel that aching emptiness, that total longing, that overwhelming desire for more.
I was hungry, in those dreams, in a way I've never been in reality. I think some of that hunger must have been Benlian's, but what he was feasting upon I didn't know. In truth, I didn't much care then and I don't much care now. To have Benlian, surrounding and eating upon my very thoughts... consuming me, in a way... well, I rather thought it was the most magnificent thing.
no subject
(no worries, it worked out!) a gift! (also on ao3)
I dreamed about Benlian, of course. It was impossible not to; I think I used to hate it. I remember the way one faintly remembers that hideous feeling of falling in a dream and waking when one hits the ground, a sort of burrowing resentment, a sort of twisting, curling flicker of despair. But those feelings vanished, naturally, when Benlian did what he did; that kind of hold he had on me, and still has, I suppose, could excise any unnatural hatred the way I could step on an ant.
So I dreamed about Benlian. I still do, naturally. I dreamed, and sometimes in my dreams, we touched. I shall not say where or how or even why---though the why should of course be obvious---but I think I used to long for those dreams.
In them, Benlian was withering, the way he was withering in reality. He was performing a magnificent feat, and that did not cease in the dreams. Too, I think, he was aware; at least he was aware enough even in his sleep to not cease the great migration. I remember flashes of those old dreams, sometimes, and I think how lucky I was to get to be a part of it, that awesome movement, if only just for a second. For in dreams, we would touch, and I could feel that aching emptiness, that total longing, that overwhelming desire for more.
I was hungry, in those dreams, in a way I've never been in reality. I think some of that hunger must have been Benlian's, but what he was feasting upon I didn't know. In truth, I didn't much care then and I don't much care now. To have Benlian, surrounding and eating upon my very thoughts... consuming me, in a way... well, I rather thought it was the most magnificent thing.