A surrender can be graceful.
My friend once told me that we were similar, but also different. We know the extent of our limits. While he knows how to tame himself and his wild, I am entirely different. I bide and build a dam. My words and my ways are carefully chosen, after all. Their chaos runs deep, but not too deep.
When my dam breaks, the black tide waxes.
Spiral is calm. Spiral is controlled, but he is fragile. He is glass, not diamond. He gets scratched, but he can be polished. He melts under extreme heat and pressure to become a shapeless soup before he solidifies into an ugly heap. He is not diamond.
There is catharsis in abandon.
Peter is brash. Peter is unafraid. Peter can cut you with his words. He puts an end to Spiral's tales, he narrates things in his own way: he yields to the moment and finds strength to rebuild Spiral again. Spiral helps his peers see things in a better way. Peter strives to make Spiral follow his advice, or eat it.
A deluge is a prelude of peace.
Peter had to break the dam, else Spiral will be his own undoing. Spiral is Spiral's own demon, his greatest foe. He is the source of his own blight: he doubts that he can be loved. Peter took the stars, the mountains, the sea - the world and the cosmos - to lay down Spiral's fear in words. That is how Spiral does it, that is how Peter prefers it. Tropes and imagery shall always be an oasis, their saving grace.
Glass is finished. The curtains, rolled.
Spiral is not diamond. Peter will mold him back again, and Spiral shall be stronger this time. His smile shall be whole. This is the gravestone of Spiral's doubt and his fears.
Spiral and Peter are loved.
They are strong.
I'm sorry, You.
I just want to hear from You.