Canis Lupus
The initial compulsion was to comfort. Strong arms, battered from the bruising battles against tin monsters, wrapped protectively around the softness of her vulnerability. Held the tenderness of her hurt right against a heart well-versed in the peculiarities of that fatally familiar storyline. And it was difficult to let her go. The smell of her hair reminded me of Irish innocence; the weight of restrained tears crushed the brittle skeletons of hopeful expectations. The ones promising better outcomes. Because everything new is always old again. And she was caught hard in the hopelessness of that contradiction. I wanted to protect her. And champion the cause of her more gentle angels. Because I have known that hurt; I have lived that story. Those experiences branded me deep. …
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