Real-life drabbles
I'm an artist and a writer. When one won't work for me, to get all of the mess out, i turn to the other. Today I'm in more of a "writing" mood, so that's what I'm gonna do.
It's been a while since I've been this restless. I want to DO something. So I'll write.
It wasn't like time didn't change anything. But it didn't change everything, and that was the problem. New chapters started, and all of the players in their twisted little game of fate (mostly) moved on with their lives, laughing and loving and occasionally wondering, is this how it's supposed to be? But there was no answer to that particular question, so they shoved it back and tried to not think about what might have been. That year left different scars on all of them, some more prominent, others barely more than scratches; some healed, and some stayed red and inflammed for months.
One girl wore her scar over her heart, and simple, healed "X" that marked her as someone different, someone who didn't belong to herself anymore, not in the slightest. She belonged to him, the man who wasn't there, and when you looked really close (no one bothered anymore) you could see his name etched in her eyes, behind the smile and the laughter, behind her dimples and her sharklike smile.
The rest of them- her best friends, ex best friends, the boy who she'd thought once was her soulmate and who she now knew was the one who wasn't worth it, her family, all those who had their own stories in the mess but their stories rotated around hers, because, really, it was her and him at the heart of this mess- didn't see that side of her anymore. She was back to herself, the old girl, laughing and joking instead of staring listlessly into nothing. They didn't see the side of her that missed him very often, but, sometimes, she cracked, and a glimpse of that would show through before she caught herself again.
But, thought her best friend, she didn't seem really like she belonged to herself, anymore. There was a quiet certainty in everything she was now that had never been there before. it was strength, almost, except it was more subtle. She didn't doubt herself anymore, or maybe it was something else she didn't doubt.
Maybe, her friend thought, maybe it was him.
The girl wouldn't admit it unless she was asked, but yes. That was the answer- she no longer doubted him. She didn't know what was coming, but she knew him and she knew that, for better or worse, every second of it had been real. It wasn't like her love for him was a happy feeling, or a sad feeling, either. It just was. It lived inside her chest, a forever expanding horizon of impossibly bright light that filled every inch of her body every second of the day, even without her thinking about it.
And he was still gone. Not dead, but gone all the same, and she'd have to go through hell and back to even have the right to speak to him again. She'd have to fight, and she knew it would be worth it, but she still hadn't made the decision yet.
Because there were two girls that weren't quite friends and weren't quite family, two girls who were the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and she would do nothing to jeopardize that. Even if it meant her heart breaking.
She wouldn't ask them to support someone they detested.
-
And what about the man, the elusive figure who was now little more that a bad taste in the mouths of many? Once a hero, he'd fallen like only a hero could, when his flaws, his sins were fully exposed.
And they were many.
He'd lost it all, now, sitting on that bed, staring at that gray wall. His job, his respect, his family, his future.
Her.
It suprised him, how much he'd meant it. Oh, it'd started like all the others, a girl with a crush and him. And then it became.... more. He resisted, over and over, and found he actually cared about her, about her quick wit and her gleaming smile and the way she wasn't intimidated by him. And so he kept resisting, and they became closer and closer, laughing and teasing each other like old pals.
He didn't know exactly when it was he fell in love, but he knew it was long before they sat down and he decided, what the hell.
i guess what i'm trying to say is that there's an attraction there.
It had been almost a year.
He told her he loved her, but it wasn't until she ended it that he realized how much that was true. He'd driven home that night, his normally jovial face very serious, and thought about her all night.
He loved her, and because he was an idiot, he lost her. The one person who stood by him, the one person who cared enough to tell him to get his shit together and to straighten himself out, and because he couldn't control himself, he'd never be able to talk to her again.
Maybe it was for the best. She deserved better than an ex-con fifteen years her senior, that was for damn sure. She was young, beautiful, vivacious, charismatic. She had the world at her feet at eighteen.
He had nothing. Nothing except memories, dreams, her picture, her letter, and a book of prayers she'd given him through a mutual friend. He read that letter- it was a long one, and he knew how much she hated opening up- every day, sometimes more. Even in the most serious of situations, that letter made him laugh, which he knew she'd wanted. It also made him cry.
i love you with my whole heart, not because you manipulated me into it, but because I think I've been in love with you since I met you and just wasn't smart enough to realize it.
"Me too," he said, his voice low as his eyes followed the familiar lines of her messy, spidery writing. "Me too."
-
Neither of them could see it, from where they were, but they could feel it. Both had been told by much wiser people to forget the other, that it would be better for both of them to never, ever speak again. They tried to convince themselves that it was true.
But all the signs screaming "DON'T GIVE UP" were present and making continual nuisances of themselves. The two people grew used to them, and just grinned and shook their heads now. Neither of them were really afraid, because there was that certainty that, even under the fear and the doubt and the hurt, it would work out in the end.
Neither of them believed in soulmates.
But somehow, they knew that's what they were. And so they would wait, and then, when the time was right...
They would fight.
fin
It's been a while since I've been this restless. I want to DO something. So I'll write.
It wasn't like time didn't change anything. But it didn't change everything, and that was the problem. New chapters started, and all of the players in their twisted little game of fate (mostly) moved on with their lives, laughing and loving and occasionally wondering, is this how it's supposed to be? But there was no answer to that particular question, so they shoved it back and tried to not think about what might have been. That year left different scars on all of them, some more prominent, others barely more than scratches; some healed, and some stayed red and inflammed for months.
One girl wore her scar over her heart, and simple, healed "X" that marked her as someone different, someone who didn't belong to herself anymore, not in the slightest. She belonged to him, the man who wasn't there, and when you looked really close (no one bothered anymore) you could see his name etched in her eyes, behind the smile and the laughter, behind her dimples and her sharklike smile.
The rest of them- her best friends, ex best friends, the boy who she'd thought once was her soulmate and who she now knew was the one who wasn't worth it, her family, all those who had their own stories in the mess but their stories rotated around hers, because, really, it was her and him at the heart of this mess- didn't see that side of her anymore. She was back to herself, the old girl, laughing and joking instead of staring listlessly into nothing. They didn't see the side of her that missed him very often, but, sometimes, she cracked, and a glimpse of that would show through before she caught herself again.
But, thought her best friend, she didn't seem really like she belonged to herself, anymore. There was a quiet certainty in everything she was now that had never been there before. it was strength, almost, except it was more subtle. She didn't doubt herself anymore, or maybe it was something else she didn't doubt.
Maybe, her friend thought, maybe it was him.
The girl wouldn't admit it unless she was asked, but yes. That was the answer- she no longer doubted him. She didn't know what was coming, but she knew him and she knew that, for better or worse, every second of it had been real. It wasn't like her love for him was a happy feeling, or a sad feeling, either. It just was. It lived inside her chest, a forever expanding horizon of impossibly bright light that filled every inch of her body every second of the day, even without her thinking about it.
And he was still gone. Not dead, but gone all the same, and she'd have to go through hell and back to even have the right to speak to him again. She'd have to fight, and she knew it would be worth it, but she still hadn't made the decision yet.
Because there were two girls that weren't quite friends and weren't quite family, two girls who were the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and she would do nothing to jeopardize that. Even if it meant her heart breaking.
She wouldn't ask them to support someone they detested.
-
And what about the man, the elusive figure who was now little more that a bad taste in the mouths of many? Once a hero, he'd fallen like only a hero could, when his flaws, his sins were fully exposed.
And they were many.
He'd lost it all, now, sitting on that bed, staring at that gray wall. His job, his respect, his family, his future.
Her.
It suprised him, how much he'd meant it. Oh, it'd started like all the others, a girl with a crush and him. And then it became.... more. He resisted, over and over, and found he actually cared about her, about her quick wit and her gleaming smile and the way she wasn't intimidated by him. And so he kept resisting, and they became closer and closer, laughing and teasing each other like old pals.
He didn't know exactly when it was he fell in love, but he knew it was long before they sat down and he decided, what the hell.
i guess what i'm trying to say is that there's an attraction there.
It had been almost a year.
He told her he loved her, but it wasn't until she ended it that he realized how much that was true. He'd driven home that night, his normally jovial face very serious, and thought about her all night.
He loved her, and because he was an idiot, he lost her. The one person who stood by him, the one person who cared enough to tell him to get his shit together and to straighten himself out, and because he couldn't control himself, he'd never be able to talk to her again.
Maybe it was for the best. She deserved better than an ex-con fifteen years her senior, that was for damn sure. She was young, beautiful, vivacious, charismatic. She had the world at her feet at eighteen.
He had nothing. Nothing except memories, dreams, her picture, her letter, and a book of prayers she'd given him through a mutual friend. He read that letter- it was a long one, and he knew how much she hated opening up- every day, sometimes more. Even in the most serious of situations, that letter made him laugh, which he knew she'd wanted. It also made him cry.
i love you with my whole heart, not because you manipulated me into it, but because I think I've been in love with you since I met you and just wasn't smart enough to realize it.
"Me too," he said, his voice low as his eyes followed the familiar lines of her messy, spidery writing. "Me too."
-
Neither of them could see it, from where they were, but they could feel it. Both had been told by much wiser people to forget the other, that it would be better for both of them to never, ever speak again. They tried to convince themselves that it was true.
But all the signs screaming "DON'T GIVE UP" were present and making continual nuisances of themselves. The two people grew used to them, and just grinned and shook their heads now. Neither of them were really afraid, because there was that certainty that, even under the fear and the doubt and the hurt, it would work out in the end.
Neither of them believed in soulmates.
But somehow, they knew that's what they were. And so they would wait, and then, when the time was right...
They would fight.
fin