18 | Linguist | Anxious resting face
Hiya! I hope you like my ramblings and ponderings - any and all constructive criticism is pretty much guaranteed to be met with a 'yay!' Please note British English spellings ;)
Written By: Helen Grant
April 4, 2015
It was like he'd reached the point where he was so afraid of dying that he couldn't bear to lift his toes off the ground, in case some callous deity or a strong gust of wind scooped him up and put him on a cloud before he got the chance to say goodbye to his family. Instead he shuffled. Small steps, low steps, slow steps, excruciating for his wife and his daughter and me to behold. Because in his efforts to remain grounded he was risking every unevenness in the carpet, every seam in the flagstones, every tufted patch of grass; but we couldn't take his arm, cup his elbow, steady him. It would have been an insult to his dignity, and and insult to the smart, straight-backed civil engineer that stood in his leather slippers and pulled self-consciously at the folds and crevises in his skin. And so we watched and we waited for the fall.