33. sun
You catch yourself staring. Not wanting, not needing, only staring-studying. There are so many things about him that you already know, and yet so many more that you still need to memorise. You study the sway of his hips as walks, absorbed in nothing but thoughts of how they move. You obsess with his grip on the swords he carries, the way it tightens and lengthens the lean muscles of his arms You... ancestors, you're drawn to him and all his sharp, elegant lines, right down to the slash of white teeth in his mouth.
You're an ungainly creature, you know; unsightly and laborious, and the oldest part of you sings rejoice every day that he has elected to stay with you rather than one of his own fair cousins. They all set you on edge, beautiful beings that they are, because you will never find another as gorgeous as he is, but they are all so much more beautiful than you.
Your infinitely small victory against the race of the sun is your ability to grow a beard-and oh, how he loves it.
You're an ungainly creature, you know; unsightly and laborious, and the oldest part of you sings rejoice every day that he has elected to stay with you rather than one of his own fair cousins. They all set you on edge, beautiful beings that they are, because you will never find another as gorgeous as he is, but they are all so much more beautiful than you.
Your infinitely small victory against the race of the sun is your ability to grow a beard-and oh, how he loves it.