is thinking. It’s thinking of love.
everything eating everything in the end.
right out of my mouth.
You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.
where you can see right through the acting,
where you can tell that I’m about to burst into tears,
right before I burst into tears
and dress them in warm clothes again.
“You sent me a photo over text last night, and in the photo I see us from years ago. I’m in your arms and we are smiling so brightly at the camera. You asked me, “Can we be these people again?” And I have yet to reply. Because I don’t know how to tell you I don’t want to keep looking backwards. I know you find comfort in the past, but I only find pain in the past. When I look at the photo, my heart doesn’t yearn for the people we used to be. My heart only remembers the pain that is coming for the people in the photo. I have spent months grieving the people in the photo. The people we used to be. And I have hit my limit for mourning. I no longer want to sacrifice my present for the past. I no longer want to see a bleak future because of a broken past. I no longer want to give up who I could be today just to wallow in what happened to us. Do you get it? I’m not trying to be harsh. I just want to move forward. And when you send me photos at midnight, asking to go back to the past, I doubt if we can move forward. I doubt if we can move forward together. Maybe we are meant for different paths now. Maybe you need more time to grieve. But I can spend no more time in this waiting place. I can spend no more time in the place in between healing and hurting. I have to choose one or the other, and I’m trying to choose healing. I need to keep going, I need to keep moving forward and I can’t keep stopping to look backwards. I want to find the people we can be, and I’m ready to let go of who we used to be. Can you join me in my search? Can you join me in finding out who we could be without letting the past hold us so tightly?”
-n.c. // please say yes.
ahh, thank you so much for the ask!! i’ll happily provide you with this bit from chapter sixteen of wayfarer, titled as my soul alights:
There was something to be said of such relief, of the chest-full-to-bursting sensation in his lungs and the spark that seemed to reignite beneath his ribs. Where he had once been standing as a solitary sapling in a field of grass, he now stood with his leaves sheltering a small sparrow that built her nest among the roots, shielding her from the storm that would have ripped them from the ground had one not found the other.
‘ You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit. ’
Oscar Wilde, The Picture Of Dorian Gray (1890).
AH, thank you so much!! i know i said i’d be doing these after i finish writing for the day but i love this prompt and decided to cheat :’) here’s a bit from one of the short stories i’m planning on releasing alongside wayfarer, focusing on sha’ro’s final trials before he becomes a guardsman!
It wasn’t that Sha’ro didn’t think he could do it, not at all—this was not a matter of believing the tests to be too difficult or too dangerous. No, his decision to invoke the Rite stemmed not from fear, but from complete and utter boredom.
When given the choice between taking test after test in the guard chambers and going out on some perilous quest to gain the council’s favor, Sha’ro believed there was no contest. Was the Rite taboo? Well, yes, a bit—but it would also set him apart, and more importantly free him from the drab reality of palace life, something that had gotten old the moment he’d been introduced to it. He was sure his master would disapprove, and Aya had expressed her own worries, but if he wanted to throw himself into the Rite of the Wanderer with nothing but his inflated ego and the sword at his back, who could stop him?
It couldn’t be that bad. He was sure he’d get through it without so much as breaking a sweat.
I was tagged by @chayscribbles !! Merci merci
The words I got are: shock, glance, green, always
Shock (showed up 5 times)
Something slipped down his lips. He looked down and saw a dark spot blooming on his scarf.
Instinctively, he pressed the back of his hand to his nose, though he knew it was too late. The redhead’s eyes were wide, mirroring Cay’s shock.
Glance (showed up 30 times)
“You’re lying,” Rian growled. He glanced at Holly, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You’re lying. You always lie.”
“I’ve never lied to you,” said Dr. Scott. “You know that.”
Green (showed up 18 times)
The empty white land stretched out for ages before her. When her mind started to drift back to the stranger, she turned her attention to the sky and found the blue blur that was Bolerre.
They used to say Yleron was the green apple, and Es was the icy melon in a ring of strewnberry syrup. In some restaurants they’d have desserts models after the two planets.
Of course, that had been the view from Bolerre.
Always (showed up 25 times)
Every time Bolerre came within traveling distance, Essan representatives would be sent to plead for help. Bee remembered watching news feeds of the Essan spacecrafts landing, marveling at how beat-down they looked. Bolerre had always refused. This time would be no different. If Es lost…well, Bee certainly didn’t want to be here when that happened.
Your words are: peace, shot, strange, find (or found)!
I was consumed by a more general sense of dread […].
Donna Tartt, The Secret History (1992).
— Gabriela Mistral, ‘The Sleepless Woman’; from Madwomen, tr. by Randall Couch (2008)
— william shakespeare; king lear
“A question. Why didn’t she love me? Don’t I deserve to have my mother love me?
For years that question’s been a white-hot flame burning my heart, eating away at my soul. There had to be something fundamentally wrong with me that made my mother not love me. Was there something inherently polluted about me? Was I born only so that everyone could turn their faces from me?
My mother didn’t even hold me close when she left. She turned her face away and left home with my sister without saying a word. She disappeared like quiet smoke. And now that face is gone forever.”
― Haruki Murakami from “Kafka on the shore”