[In this life, there are hungers that compel us. Food. Shelter. Warmth. Even poetry. But one thing stands titanic. The words, spoken on day distinguished by the darkest grief, echo in his ears, turning his gaze distant for a second.
His world? His world and his life in it have their share of awful aspects, but they're his. If he doesn't admit how ineffectual it is to run from those things now, when will he? Not even imagining an escape to a new world can set right all of the wrongs he'd leave behind.]
A pleasant daydream. Who among us hasn't thought about starting new somewhere the past can't reach. [Victor glances at the woman.] But if there's no rhyme or reason to who arrives here, who's to say those awful things won't follow?
[And what's the point, then? It's not much of a sanctuary in that light.]
no subject
His world? His world and his life in it have their share of awful aspects, but they're his. If he doesn't admit how ineffectual it is to run from those things now, when will he? Not even imagining an escape to a new world can set right all of the wrongs he'd leave behind.]
A pleasant daydream. Who among us hasn't thought about starting new somewhere the past can't reach. [Victor glances at the woman.] But if there's no rhyme or reason to who arrives here, who's to say those awful things won't follow?
[And what's the point, then? It's not much of a sanctuary in that light.]