[And in the end, that's what separates him and this man. He has tasted the sweet fruit of genuine love for others. He has cared, and hurt, and grieved. His heart was warmed and held, and then dashed to the pavement into a million pieces, but never erased.]
[He loved too much, even if he never included himself into the equation. Lobelia never loved at all.]
[So when he feels the other draw back, he stares down, as if to burn the image of that faltered smile in the back of his retinas. Like Lobelia has captured his voice as evidence of his failure, so he returns the favor, even if he doesn't have the power for such a thing to make it reality.]
Good night, Lobelia.
[Or bad night, he should say?]
[And then, unceremoniously, he pulls back his hands, lets Lobelia drop into the sand crater he's made with him, and with a noticeable limp, he walks away.]
[Perhaps the other man will seek him out. Regardless, he knows the soft spot of this nasty little worm.]
[And he'll crush him under his foot if he has anything to say about it.]
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[He loved too much, even if he never included himself into the equation. Lobelia never loved at all.]
[So when he feels the other draw back, he stares down, as if to burn the image of that faltered smile in the back of his retinas. Like Lobelia has captured his voice as evidence of his failure, so he returns the favor, even if he doesn't have the power for such a thing to make it reality.]
Good night, Lobelia.
[Or bad night, he should say?]
[And then, unceremoniously, he pulls back his hands, lets Lobelia drop into the sand crater he's made with him, and with a noticeable limp, he walks away.]
[Perhaps the other man will seek him out. Regardless, he knows the soft spot of this nasty little worm.]
[And he'll crush him under his foot if he has anything to say about it.]