Mostly Fiction
Random tidbit drabble under the cut. It's about nothing and no one. Seriously mostly fiction.
It's hard to live in a world, any world but it's especially difficult to live in a world that doesn't welcome you.
How can you expect a world - to which you have never been - to open its arms and embrace you for who you are when you hadn't even taken the time to really get to know what you're getting yourself into before you greet it in return? Then, when you leave how can you expect it to feel as if it lost anything valuable or even worth the time spent thinking about the departure? You can't expect anyone to miss you when you just haven't invested your time, their time or any time.
But things can happen. Worlds can collide violently, worlds can find their peace and worlds can come to a realization that although it may seem to be the opposite, there are a lot of things two worlds can have in common. New alliances, friendships and love are formed and even without much time invested, you can be taken off your feet into that other dimension that you never knew existed. It can almost be like love at first sight, like two soulmates meeting as one.
But a collision is fast and furious but it's violent. It comes with wounds and little deaths as collateral damage that can leave you devastated, more than you know, for a while. It may take ages to recuperate but with the help of advice from other worlds, it can be easier and you can forget about it. Sulking in disasters can only result in more sulking and the disaster is then never dealt with.
The lady in black that is walking outside is reflecting, ruminating on how her world has just collided with another world, as she watches the orange burn of her cigarette that is now in her mouth. She pauses, takes a drag, breathes in deep like she's never breathed before and lets it out, watching her visible sigh go up in to the void. She throws out the eternal question again and again, hoping for an answer and not caring whether any answer gets back to her or not.
She misses him. In fact she misses him a lot and she doesn't know why because she really shouldn't miss him. She hadn't been seeing him for a long time nor was he anything serious. They never spent much time together and the fact that they somehow ended up in a relationship is still a mystery to her. But ever since he has left (which she could fully see coming from a mile away), she doesn't feel the same. There's just slightly less of a bounce in her steps and the force with which she sucks on her cigarette again is weaker than when she knew he would be there. Returning home seems less pleasant and it's almost as if she has nothing to look forward to. Although she doesn't want to admit it, she's devastated and she is furious that she feels this way. He had nothing to offer her: no stability, no definitive future, not much affection and not much of anything. He had been sparse with whatever he gave her and she knew it was a one way street when she got into it but this was too much. Now he was pushing the boundaries and she had had enough.
She was the one who left him. She was the one who had given the ultimatum and had kept her word afterward. She was the one that was supposed to be feeling satisfied and answered. She felt neither of those things and the thing she wanted to do most was be wherever he was right now, knowing what he was doing and hoping that he was having a good time. She might never see him again in her life and the prospect of losing someone that you collided with so quickly and so passionately was flooring her spirit to the point that she felt exhausted and drained of all energy. It was nothing, she keeps telling herself, it can't have been anything because it was only a week, a month, or maybe a year that I've really been attached to him. A week is a long time and especially when worlds collide, weeks can make cultures and weeks can have offspring. There is a residue, a debris that doesn't settle until both worlds are safely apart or safely together and right now they were neither of those things.
His scent was still in the air. Everything and anything she owned, she wished smelled like him. Everyone has a distinct scent but this one was like a hint of vanilla with your morning coffee. He smelled amazing and she wanted to fall asleep with it. As creepy and as unbelievably weird it sounded, she wanted his clothing just as a souvenir and a place to smell him. It was a piece of him and she would keep it, no matter what anyone else or even herself thought. It was something that would be reserved for non-judgmental opinions. I mean, seriously, who cares.
She took another drag, missed him some more and kept walking, moving forward, her head full of the smoke she had just breathed in.
It's hard to live in a world, any world but it's especially difficult to live in a world that doesn't welcome you.
How can you expect a world - to which you have never been - to open its arms and embrace you for who you are when you hadn't even taken the time to really get to know what you're getting yourself into before you greet it in return? Then, when you leave how can you expect it to feel as if it lost anything valuable or even worth the time spent thinking about the departure? You can't expect anyone to miss you when you just haven't invested your time, their time or any time.
But things can happen. Worlds can collide violently, worlds can find their peace and worlds can come to a realization that although it may seem to be the opposite, there are a lot of things two worlds can have in common. New alliances, friendships and love are formed and even without much time invested, you can be taken off your feet into that other dimension that you never knew existed. It can almost be like love at first sight, like two soulmates meeting as one.
But a collision is fast and furious but it's violent. It comes with wounds and little deaths as collateral damage that can leave you devastated, more than you know, for a while. It may take ages to recuperate but with the help of advice from other worlds, it can be easier and you can forget about it. Sulking in disasters can only result in more sulking and the disaster is then never dealt with.
The lady in black that is walking outside is reflecting, ruminating on how her world has just collided with another world, as she watches the orange burn of her cigarette that is now in her mouth. She pauses, takes a drag, breathes in deep like she's never breathed before and lets it out, watching her visible sigh go up in to the void. She throws out the eternal question again and again, hoping for an answer and not caring whether any answer gets back to her or not.
She misses him. In fact she misses him a lot and she doesn't know why because she really shouldn't miss him. She hadn't been seeing him for a long time nor was he anything serious. They never spent much time together and the fact that they somehow ended up in a relationship is still a mystery to her. But ever since he has left (which she could fully see coming from a mile away), she doesn't feel the same. There's just slightly less of a bounce in her steps and the force with which she sucks on her cigarette again is weaker than when she knew he would be there. Returning home seems less pleasant and it's almost as if she has nothing to look forward to. Although she doesn't want to admit it, she's devastated and she is furious that she feels this way. He had nothing to offer her: no stability, no definitive future, not much affection and not much of anything. He had been sparse with whatever he gave her and she knew it was a one way street when she got into it but this was too much. Now he was pushing the boundaries and she had had enough.
She was the one who left him. She was the one who had given the ultimatum and had kept her word afterward. She was the one that was supposed to be feeling satisfied and answered. She felt neither of those things and the thing she wanted to do most was be wherever he was right now, knowing what he was doing and hoping that he was having a good time. She might never see him again in her life and the prospect of losing someone that you collided with so quickly and so passionately was flooring her spirit to the point that she felt exhausted and drained of all energy. It was nothing, she keeps telling herself, it can't have been anything because it was only a week, a month, or maybe a year that I've really been attached to him. A week is a long time and especially when worlds collide, weeks can make cultures and weeks can have offspring. There is a residue, a debris that doesn't settle until both worlds are safely apart or safely together and right now they were neither of those things.
His scent was still in the air. Everything and anything she owned, she wished smelled like him. Everyone has a distinct scent but this one was like a hint of vanilla with your morning coffee. He smelled amazing and she wanted to fall asleep with it. As creepy and as unbelievably weird it sounded, she wanted his clothing just as a souvenir and a place to smell him. It was a piece of him and she would keep it, no matter what anyone else or even herself thought. It was something that would be reserved for non-judgmental opinions. I mean, seriously, who cares.
She took another drag, missed him some more and kept walking, moving forward, her head full of the smoke she had just breathed in.