@trajedis said : ❛ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted. ❜ /
anakin skywalker is an embalmed corpse left at the temple of her love. padmé routinely mourns for him. & like a half-eaten liver , her grief starts anew each morning. & like burned skin healing , she revists her memory of him with caution. the injured animal of her sorrow is wary of the sun-bright image of his smile , the salted taste of his mouth , the touch , the breath , the all of him as fragmented echoes in her mind. there are mornings in which her throat still itches from contained sobs , mornings when anakin's ghost shares their bread with them & padmé answers obi-wan's silence with silence.
𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. sometimes unstranslated and betrayed afterimages die under the light only for others to emerge from the soft dark beyond the light of the desert — which means , in simpler words for simpler times , that there is good in the world still. every morning hope and love stubbornly persist. something good and human remains in the desert still , undevoured by it. the future and the past scrape gently at the feet of her children : pieces of anakin that live in leia's bold smile , in luke's blue eyes. & anakin is not a ghost then , but light , only ever light , even if for a moment. ❛ but it still counts. ❜ she says , then moves her hand from his chest to point at the children outside. ❛ it still counts. you love them as you loved him — make it count. for him... and for them. we need you. ❜
