[ He wants Arthur to recite more poetry in that soft cadence of his, the quiet power and finality in words known by heart. He wants to learn the defiance he felt rise like sweet bile when Arthur was afraid. He wants to hear Arthur laugh like the way dust dances in the sunlight. He wants the first person he ever knew to want to know him as much.]
[Arthur had been hateful to Yellow, after all. Jedao's voice is quiet, melancholy with understanding. He misses the first person he ever knew, too. He wishes that man had been - different.]
You can hate him. You can make him pay, a little.
But if you keep hurting him - if you can't let it be enough, that he's paid with one miserable, terrified death - then you're just going to be stuck in the feeling of how much you hate him all the time.
And I think you deserve to feel lots of other things.
[ There are too many of them. Too many feelings, too many layers to it all, too much. Even if some of them are good feelings, even if some of the layers are wonder and warmth and curiosity and delight. ]
[He makes a deeply skeptical noise, then pauses, thinking about it.
Describe them. He can describe them. Not directly, not well, but he remembers what Arthur said about poetry, about that poem making him feel strong. Maybe a poem can make Jedao feel how Yellow does.]
I am less of myself and more of the sun; The beat of life is wearing me To an incomplete oblivion, Yet not to the certain dignity Of death. They cannot even die Who have not lived.
The hungry jaws Of space snap at my unlearned eye, And time tears in my flesh like claws.
If I am not life’s, if I am not death’s, Out of chaos I must re-reap The burden of untasted breaths. Who has not waked may not yet sleep.
Bitterness, a lot of it. Grief for a life you haven't gotten to live, and bitterness at how skullfucking unfair that is, when so many other people just...get to live, get to have so many things snatched away from you. Fear that it's all you'll ever have, that you're built wrong, that even if you got the chance it wouldn't work for you, somehow. Resentment and rage and loneliness, because you're not all one thing and not all the other, and if nobody is like you and nobody understands then - then you're alone even when you're surrounded by people, if they aren't your people, if you don't have a people, and the ones who could have been didn't welcome you, and you don't know if there's anywhere you'll belong.
That's the feelings the poem made me think of, anyway. I used to feel like that....a lot. I don't feel like that very often now, though. And when I do it's usually just little pieces of it, instead of all of it together.
[The way you feel now is not the way you'll feel forever.]
It's not really about supposed to or not supposed to be. Feelings happen in lots of ways. But they're a little easier to deal with when they're not all at once.
Feelings are kind of...warning signs? They're a part of you that's trying to help you, but all it knows how to do is yell real loud. They can get quieter if you kind of...give them some attention, and then say yes, I heard your warning, I understand. You don't have to shout anymore.
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[ He wants Arthur to recite more poetry in that soft cadence of his, the quiet power and finality in words known by heart. He wants to learn the defiance he felt rise like sweet bile when Arthur was afraid. He wants to hear Arthur laugh like the way dust dances in the sunlight. He wants the first person he ever knew to want to know him as much.]
I hate him.
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[Arthur had been hateful to Yellow, after all. Jedao's voice is quiet, melancholy with understanding. He misses the first person he ever knew, too. He wishes that man had been - different.]
You can hate him. You can make him pay, a little.
But if you keep hurting him - if you can't let it be enough, that he's paid with one miserable, terrified death - then you're just going to be stuck in the feeling of how much you hate him all the time.
And I think you deserve to feel lots of other things.
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Because I don't want to.
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What other feelings have you tried?
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Describe them. He can describe them. Not directly, not well, but he remembers what Arthur said about poetry, about that poem making him feel strong. Maybe a poem can make Jedao feel how Yellow does.]
I am less of myself and more of the sun;
The beat of life is wearing me
To an incomplete oblivion,
Yet not to the certain dignity
Of death. They cannot even die
Who have not lived.
The hungry jaws
Of space snap at my unlearned eye,
And time tears in my flesh like claws.
If I am not life’s, if I am not death’s,
Out of chaos I must re-reap
The burden of untasted breaths.
Who has not waked may not yet sleep.
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[Soft and punched-out. He hadn't really understood what the Andan and John and Arthur were on about, before.]
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Does it... make sense? Did I use it properly?
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That's the feelings the poem made me think of, anyway. I used to feel like that....a lot. I don't feel like that very often now, though. And when I do it's usually just little pieces of it, instead of all of it together.
[The way you feel now is not the way you'll feel forever.]
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...Are they not supposed to be all at once?
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But they're always all at once.
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[Jedao tends to think that both he and Yellow are both new and young, but they're still different things.]
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How do you make them less all at once?
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Like, okay. Let's start with the anger.
[Easier, Jedao imagines, for Yellow to discuss than fear or sorrow.]
There's a lot of things you're angry about, but pick just one of them for me right now.
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...Arthur being gentle.
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