anya (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homelovefamily) wrote2018-05-24 08:52 am
homelovefamily) wrote2018-05-24 08:52 am
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[dated 17 may | the heart is a muscle]
Anya's heart feels heavy, weighed down and tired, confused and aching. A constricting, vice-like grip that holds firm in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She wishes that she could feign ignorance, claim to have no understanding as to what is causing it. But she does. The reasons are numerous, but they are very, very real.
The date, for one thing, hangs around her head. Her father's birthday is tomorrow. Even if he hadn't been killed that fateful night in Ekaterinburg, he would certainly be dead by now. This world might be one in which people live longer than ever before, but a hundred and fifty years without immortality would be a stretch. It's odd that she feels like she has lost him all over again.
Then there are bigger things. Sweeter and more cruel things. Dmitry. His confession. He loves her. She didn't think it was possible, and she hates that she is only finding out right now. Like this. That she loves him too, but what can she do with that love? It's an awkward and ill-fitting thing. Especially when there is Gleb. Stoic, awkward Gleb, with his odd sense of humor and dedication. Gleb who loves her and who she loves in return.
Love shouldn't be a source of strife, yet it is. How can she love two people like this? What on earth is she meant to do?
She knows for one thing that she cannot keep Dmitry's confession a secret. It would be a deceit that Gleb doesn't deserve. That is why she is at his door now, hand on the buzzer, a bit out of sorts with her fingers worrying a bag full of pastries as she waits for him to open it.
She doesn't know what to say. But she knows she has to say it.
The date, for one thing, hangs around her head. Her father's birthday is tomorrow. Even if he hadn't been killed that fateful night in Ekaterinburg, he would certainly be dead by now. This world might be one in which people live longer than ever before, but a hundred and fifty years without immortality would be a stretch. It's odd that she feels like she has lost him all over again.
Then there are bigger things. Sweeter and more cruel things. Dmitry. His confession. He loves her. She didn't think it was possible, and she hates that she is only finding out right now. Like this. That she loves him too, but what can she do with that love? It's an awkward and ill-fitting thing. Especially when there is Gleb. Stoic, awkward Gleb, with his odd sense of humor and dedication. Gleb who loves her and who she loves in return.
Love shouldn't be a source of strife, yet it is. How can she love two people like this? What on earth is she meant to do?
She knows for one thing that she cannot keep Dmitry's confession a secret. It would be a deceit that Gleb doesn't deserve. That is why she is at his door now, hand on the buzzer, a bit out of sorts with her fingers worrying a bag full of pastries as she waits for him to open it.
She doesn't know what to say. But she knows she has to say it.