[ floating directionless like that... it speaks to a deeper and more insidious problem. a man who feels he lacks a sense of right or wrong, who looks solely to others for guidance because he feels he cannot trust himself--
something has broken this man. taken away his sense of self, disconnected him from something internally. it's... concerning. no, beyond that-- it inspires a tug of empathy that niggles uncomfortably between his ribs, because the sort of events necessary to drive a person to that point are never, ever pretty.
and Amos being apart from the people he had come to rely on certainly isn't a good thing. separating a man from his bonds -- one who had made connections, reached out and found a moral compass in others, trusted despite being fractured inside -- rarely results in anything good. the grief that sits in those seemingly quiet words betrays as much, even if Amos himself might not be self-aware enough to recognize it.
Abel certainly does. ]
Learning from our mistakes is all part of the human experience, right? [ his try for a smile is a little less convincing than the last. ...it's simply hard; his heart aches for his friend, and God-- God, does he wish there was more he could do than offer some pitiable company through these long, dark hours. ] I have a feeling you're better at this whole thing than you let on... that you might be harder on yourself than you deserve. Making mistakes is also part of the human experience, you know? And sometimes... sometimes we're in a place where it's all we can do to keep going, leaning on someone else. If that's where you're at, it's alright. It doesn't mean you don't have that little voice in you that knows right from wrong, Mr. Amos. I just think... maybe your life hasn't been the kindest to you, and it's been drowned out a bit. But... even just in this time we've whittled away, I can tell you're too kind for it to truly be gone for good.
no subject
something has broken this man. taken away his sense of self, disconnected him from something internally. it's... concerning. no, beyond that-- it inspires a tug of empathy that niggles uncomfortably between his ribs, because the sort of events necessary to drive a person to that point are never, ever pretty.
and Amos being apart from the people he had come to rely on certainly isn't a good thing. separating a man from his bonds -- one who had made connections, reached out and found a moral compass in others, trusted despite being fractured inside -- rarely results in anything good. the grief that sits in those seemingly quiet words betrays as much, even if Amos himself might not be self-aware enough to recognize it.
Abel certainly does. ]
Learning from our mistakes is all part of the human experience, right? [ his try for a smile is a little less convincing than the last. ...it's simply hard; his heart aches for his friend, and God-- God, does he wish there was more he could do than offer some pitiable company through these long, dark hours. ] I have a feeling you're better at this whole thing than you let on... that you might be harder on yourself than you deserve. Making mistakes is also part of the human experience, you know? And sometimes... sometimes we're in a place where it's all we can do to keep going, leaning on someone else. If that's where you're at, it's alright. It doesn't mean you don't have that little voice in you that knows right from wrong, Mr. Amos. I just think... maybe your life hasn't been the kindest to you, and it's been drowned out a bit. But... even just in this time we've whittled away, I can tell you're too kind for it to truly be gone for good.