Life has a way of going on, no matter how hard you try to stop it...
There are times when I still remember.
That was my tagline, right? And the one boy who couldn't forget... Some bullshit like that. But yeah, there are moments in time, fewer and further between now, when I slip into old memories. When looking into Logan's dead eyes reminds me of a little boy with blond hair and thick glasses and that empty, erased face. When thinking about my life now automatically forces me to think about my life then. About that summer I was eight years old, and how new and exciting and terrifying everything felt. What it felt like to be taken care of, to have someone who knew... everything, could handle everything. In my little eight year old eyes, there wasn't anything I had to worry about, as long as he was there. And then he left and the whole fucking world came crashing down.
I'm a liar. Because part of me, maybe a bigger part than I'll admit to, still wants that. Maybe Logan's right and I do need to just grow the fuck up, 'cause I find myself looking at him and just... wishing that we could go back to looking after each other again. Back to him looking after me. But everything fell apart last week, and Logan's hardly standing on his own two feet anymore. Hasn't been for a while now, really. This whole repression thing's only gonna last so long, and if that goddamn therapist was really encouraging this much fucking denial, she oughta be fired.
I haven't been back to the hut since that morning after. No more than to put the dogs away in our pen, and once to grab my favorite pair of jeans out of the laundry. It's been almost a week now, and I figure... Maybe it's time. Standing out front, I get a flash... a memory of standing in the grass on the side of the road, staring up at a screened doorway bathed in blue light. It's just a flicker, gone in seconds, but it's there and I squash down the shudder that shoots its way down my spine.
Taking a deep breath, I take a step forward, but I freeze with my hand on the door when I hear grumbling and what sounds like feet scrambling in the dirt around back. My face setting into a confused, wary sorta look, I make my way around the side of the house, leaning over the fence to get a better look, my eyes going so wide the sockets ache.
"God fucking dammit! Max!"
They dart in opposite directions, Max cowering in the corner and Ozzy slinking over to me like nothing just happened. Like I didn't just catch her sprawled out in the sun with Max going to town on her and her fucking loving it.
"Joe!"
[Yes, the post of angst just turned into Neil's dog trying his hardest to knock up the pretty little huskey-poodle mix next door. Not just meant for Joe. Anyone near the Hamlet can feel free to have heard him putting up a fuss. I was bored and he was loud, so this is what you get. Slowtime, late tags welcome.]
That was my tagline, right? And the one boy who couldn't forget... Some bullshit like that. But yeah, there are moments in time, fewer and further between now, when I slip into old memories. When looking into Logan's dead eyes reminds me of a little boy with blond hair and thick glasses and that empty, erased face. When thinking about my life now automatically forces me to think about my life then. About that summer I was eight years old, and how new and exciting and terrifying everything felt. What it felt like to be taken care of, to have someone who knew... everything, could handle everything. In my little eight year old eyes, there wasn't anything I had to worry about, as long as he was there. And then he left and the whole fucking world came crashing down.
I'm a liar. Because part of me, maybe a bigger part than I'll admit to, still wants that. Maybe Logan's right and I do need to just grow the fuck up, 'cause I find myself looking at him and just... wishing that we could go back to looking after each other again. Back to him looking after me. But everything fell apart last week, and Logan's hardly standing on his own two feet anymore. Hasn't been for a while now, really. This whole repression thing's only gonna last so long, and if that goddamn therapist was really encouraging this much fucking denial, she oughta be fired.
I haven't been back to the hut since that morning after. No more than to put the dogs away in our pen, and once to grab my favorite pair of jeans out of the laundry. It's been almost a week now, and I figure... Maybe it's time. Standing out front, I get a flash... a memory of standing in the grass on the side of the road, staring up at a screened doorway bathed in blue light. It's just a flicker, gone in seconds, but it's there and I squash down the shudder that shoots its way down my spine.
Taking a deep breath, I take a step forward, but I freeze with my hand on the door when I hear grumbling and what sounds like feet scrambling in the dirt around back. My face setting into a confused, wary sorta look, I make my way around the side of the house, leaning over the fence to get a better look, my eyes going so wide the sockets ache.
"God fucking dammit! Max!"
They dart in opposite directions, Max cowering in the corner and Ozzy slinking over to me like nothing just happened. Like I didn't just catch her sprawled out in the sun with Max going to town on her and her fucking loving it.
"Joe!"
[Yes, the post of angst just turned into Neil's dog trying his hardest to knock up the pretty little huskey-poodle mix next door. Not just meant for Joe. Anyone near the Hamlet can feel free to have heard him putting up a fuss. I was bored and he was loud, so this is what you get. Slowtime, late tags welcome.]