Lion Head Mesa she cries 'cause she's nothing like you, is she like you?

she bit the tip of her tongue. placed it harshly between pointed teeth. anything to hold back the words and the tears. he spoke of her mother and she wondered what it would be like if she was still here. if the memory of her was fresher even, at least.

her mother felt more like a fable, a tale of a goddess from a far land.

it hurt worse to recognize him in the coming moments. in the way he looked upon her rather than through her or with a pierce of anger.

of course, there could be no other place to rest him — and perhaps her mother had called to the spirit of her father for a long time now.

he need only sip, he need only to recline one last time.