Longanimity

And then you were swallowed by the crumbling things.

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The next word I chose is longanimity. I like how the meaning is different than I assumed before learning it (I first believed this word meant something akin to immortality). After learning this word, it has become a quality I want to possess. Well, without any further ado, here is The Weight of the Sky.

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The Weight of the Sky
Longanimity (n): patient endurance of hardship, injuries, or offense; forbearance.  
The way you always walked was light. Like you were afraid that you would wound the earth if you dug your heels in any harder and grounded yourself to this reality.


Because you were kind like that.


Your slender fingers, soothing the squirming, sopping bundle your rescued from the rain. You smelled like wet dog, and I didn’t hesitate to tell you so. But I knew you didn’t care.


Because you were kind like that.


The way you looked at the world. Like you were afraid of trusting it, but couldn’t help but believe in it anyways. Because you didn’t know any better.


No, because you were kind like that.


You had a bleeding heart. I always told you that. You were the kind who cared way too much.


You cared enough to be hurt by the things crumbling away at your fingertips.


You cared enough to be broken by them.


Because you were kind like that.


The way you sat next to me at the funeral, silent but attentive. You didn’t mention my tears, but wrapped your arms around me and didn’t let go.


The way I just knew you wouldn’t tell anybody.


Because you were kind like that.


Your eyes, downcast, like Atlas bearing the weight of the sky alone. You smiled and laughed dismissively at my concern. Changing the topic as easy as twisting the dial on the broken radio.


You never burdened me with your problems though I desperately wanted them.


I always hated that about you.


But you were kind like that.


The way you apologized right before you fell.


Like you were genuinely sorry for plummeting off the bridge on our way back from school. You looked me in the eye, sorrow and relief side by side. You granted me one last smile, like you were trying to free me from the cage of guilt and regret.


And then you were swallowed by the crumbling things.


I lived in the moments between each of your heartbeats, living and dying a thousand times.


I hated you.
I loved you.
I never wanted to see you again.
I waited for days by you so I could be the first to meet you when you woke up.
I never wanted to hear the sound of your voice ever again.
I craved it until I was broken with longing.


I was terrified that one day I wouldn’t be able to hear your next beat, but inconstancy was never one of your sins.


Because you were kind like that.


The way you cried when you woke up. I wondered if it was because you had lived, or if it was because you had almost died.


When I asked, you smiled. Your eyes were renewed with the light of hope. I loved you for giving me that smile.

Because you were kind like that.

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