(no subject)
For months now, he was sad, he was angry, he was confused.
She could see it, felt helpless, like someone in a car careening, but only just slightly, down a highway at night.
There were good things, good times, that got too easily eclipsed, and lost in a shuffle of annoyance, grievance petty and otherwise, and a general feeling of disquiet, unrest and self-important head-up-assery. But this morning, he woke up, and something was different. Nothing had externally changed, but in the night somehow, some piece of internal mechanics, some cog or flywheel or intricate bit of who knows what in his head/heart/soul/whatever had shifted over ever so slightly, and he was more willing to find the good in people. He was not a very emotionally demonstrative person, generally, preferring most times to hide feelings behind snark, but today he sent love letters to folks for the sake of doing so, waxing poetic about jigsaw puzzles and bargain pizza(it made sense in context, trust him) and he even felt good about it after he did it, the usual chorus of regret and shame temporarily silenced behind he knew not what.
He doesn't know how long this will last, but he wants her to know he intends to stretch it as far as he can, and that's why he's writing this, where admittedly no one will see it, but no one has to. It's for him to know, and her, and whoever stumbles upon this will do so and will get something out of it, or not, and it doesn't bloody matter. There's magic in that, and it's forever, and he barely even feels dumb saying so.
She could see it, felt helpless, like someone in a car careening, but only just slightly, down a highway at night.
There were good things, good times, that got too easily eclipsed, and lost in a shuffle of annoyance, grievance petty and otherwise, and a general feeling of disquiet, unrest and self-important head-up-assery. But this morning, he woke up, and something was different. Nothing had externally changed, but in the night somehow, some piece of internal mechanics, some cog or flywheel or intricate bit of who knows what in his head/heart/soul/whatever had shifted over ever so slightly, and he was more willing to find the good in people. He was not a very emotionally demonstrative person, generally, preferring most times to hide feelings behind snark, but today he sent love letters to folks for the sake of doing so, waxing poetic about jigsaw puzzles and bargain pizza(it made sense in context, trust him) and he even felt good about it after he did it, the usual chorus of regret and shame temporarily silenced behind he knew not what.
He doesn't know how long this will last, but he wants her to know he intends to stretch it as far as he can, and that's why he's writing this, where admittedly no one will see it, but no one has to. It's for him to know, and her, and whoever stumbles upon this will do so and will get something out of it, or not, and it doesn't bloody matter. There's magic in that, and it's forever, and he barely even feels dumb saying so.