Post by Katpride on May 1, 2022 21:01:30 GMT
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There was a first time for everything.
There was a first time that Lark opened their eyes to a world they could not yet understand, and there was a first time they toddled along on weak legs and collapsed into the arms of a waiting parent. There was a first hiccup and a first flare of power that paused the world around them. There was a first time they saw snow, accompanied by wide eyes watching the white drift down from the sky in wonderment.
There was a first cough and a first sniffle and a first cold that left them feverish and shaky, unable to tell if they were truly in the present or somehow in the past or future or nowhen at all, lost between the strands of time. And yet, there was always the reassuring presence of an older Lark, a wiser Lark, to lay a cool washcloth across their forehead and make sure they took their medicine on time. To make sure they were in the present, that they hadn’t been abandoned somewhere no one else could find them.
There was a first crush and a first heartbreak and tears soaked into their mother’s perfumed sweater. There was a first attempt at baseball and a first trip, tumble, crash over second base and flat onto their face. There were tears, then, too, and the rough hands of their father picking them up and brushing the dirt and dust off of them, kneeling down to make sure the scrapes and bruises weren’t as serious as their bawling made it seem. Swiping away the tears and convincing them to stay in the game, though it would be the last time they took the field.
There was a first time they saw, and a first time they knew, and then there were thousands of new things that they had to do and see and places to visit and people to meet, all in order to make it so that their life was fulfilled. So they could pass with no regrets. There was a time for growing up, and making mistakes, and correcting those mistakes or leaving them be. There were friends, most of whom passed through their life and moved on with only memories left behind. There were those who left on their own, and those they pushed, and those who they only met through their own power and could not- would not find again. There were those who stayed, and those were the most precious of all.
And just as there was a first time for everything, so too is there a last time for everything. There is a last time Lark visits their younger self, and a last ruffling of silver hair and fond grin and repetition of sage advice. There is a last time they walk through an apple orchard with the sun on their skin and a voice they could never forget how to love ringing faint in their ears. There is a last time they pause time, and a last time the world goes still and quiet around them. There is a last embrace from the timestream, and there is the last time they are deposited back in the present with only their memory and the history books to say that they were ever gone at all.
There is a last time they see their own face, caught in a sob or creased in anger or with the blank forced acceptance of inevitability and the tinge of pity. There is a last moment, one they cannot see past, cannot know past. One they thought they had accepted, but something primal in them will not allow them to give up the rage or despair or the foolish hope that this time, things will be different.
There is a last time for everything.
There was a first time for everything.
There was a first time that Lark opened their eyes to a world they could not yet understand, and there was a first time they toddled along on weak legs and collapsed into the arms of a waiting parent. There was a first hiccup and a first flare of power that paused the world around them. There was a first time they saw snow, accompanied by wide eyes watching the white drift down from the sky in wonderment.
There was a first cough and a first sniffle and a first cold that left them feverish and shaky, unable to tell if they were truly in the present or somehow in the past or future or nowhen at all, lost between the strands of time. And yet, there was always the reassuring presence of an older Lark, a wiser Lark, to lay a cool washcloth across their forehead and make sure they took their medicine on time. To make sure they were in the present, that they hadn’t been abandoned somewhere no one else could find them.
There was a first crush and a first heartbreak and tears soaked into their mother’s perfumed sweater. There was a first attempt at baseball and a first trip, tumble, crash over second base and flat onto their face. There were tears, then, too, and the rough hands of their father picking them up and brushing the dirt and dust off of them, kneeling down to make sure the scrapes and bruises weren’t as serious as their bawling made it seem. Swiping away the tears and convincing them to stay in the game, though it would be the last time they took the field.
There was a first time they saw, and a first time they knew, and then there were thousands of new things that they had to do and see and places to visit and people to meet, all in order to make it so that their life was fulfilled. So they could pass with no regrets. There was a time for growing up, and making mistakes, and correcting those mistakes or leaving them be. There were friends, most of whom passed through their life and moved on with only memories left behind. There were those who left on their own, and those they pushed, and those who they only met through their own power and could not- would not find again. There were those who stayed, and those were the most precious of all.
And just as there was a first time for everything, so too is there a last time for everything. There is a last time Lark visits their younger self, and a last ruffling of silver hair and fond grin and repetition of sage advice. There is a last time they walk through an apple orchard with the sun on their skin and a voice they could never forget how to love ringing faint in their ears. There is a last time they pause time, and a last time the world goes still and quiet around them. There is a last embrace from the timestream, and there is the last time they are deposited back in the present with only their memory and the history books to say that they were ever gone at all.
There is a last time they see their own face, caught in a sob or creased in anger or with the blank forced acceptance of inevitability and the tinge of pity. There is a last moment, one they cannot see past, cannot know past. One they thought they had accepted, but something primal in them will not allow them to give up the rage or despair or the foolish hope that this time, things will be different.
There is a last time for everything.