rebuilt
00:46

featuring
angst (i'm sorry) - milk and honey
- poetry - crappy description

Castiel was reading when it happened. The afternoon sunlight glazing his skin, sunday breeze flushing his face.

What a grand book it was. Milk and Honey.

Poetry was the basis of humanity, Castiel had thought. He had brought that book everywhere, found it laying on the ground as a human. It was his single possession, it was his. Poetry was more than art, it was utter bliss. The raven front cover gave contrast to the unfolding of colours hidden within each page.

But none of that mattered to him when it happened. When his hooded eyes left the cream page. When the book left his aged hands and pummelled with his tears. When I took Dean's essence, and apart of his as well. I would watch him cry out, at that moment, beseech my mercy. His shaking hands held the back of his head. The once proud warrior had placed his life on a mere dandelion. Castiel clenched his jaw in a failed attempt to quiet his sobs. His tears cluttered page 125 of Milk and Honey.

"i don't know why
i split myself open
for others knowing
sewing myself up
hurts this much
afterward"

The irony in this is Castiel didn't need to be repaired.

He needed to be rebuilt.