noo don’t cry about july ending and the time passing, just remember the july poem :)
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“Rome, c. 1960”. Photo by Jane Bown, from the book 'Jane Bown: Cats', 2016.
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Ghost rides the tube when he gets back from deployment. Just sits in the train car and rides it back and forth for hours. Watches the sun come up, and go down. Watches people get on in the morning, get on in the evening. To and from work. Normal people with normal lives, riding the tube. Sometimes he switches lines and rides out to the far zones, staring out the window to see the city fly past. It's so ordinary. Uninteresting to the people that see it every day. He crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes in the safety of the mundane civilian crowds, listening to the conversations around him as he does. Mothers with babies, friends on their way to class, drunks on their way home from the pub. Living people.
He gives his seat to an older woman, feels her grateful smile like poking a bruise. Picks up a dropped toy for a child and doesn't let his eyes linger on the way their parent kisses their head. People he's never going to mean anything to, but they mean something to him. Something that sticks in his throat, and makes him snap at the recruit that asks where he's been all day when he gets back on base.
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nothing makes me want to bawl like jupe's voice saying that "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here" over the announcement system at the end of NOPE. in context or without it wrecks me every time.
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i love coming out of an everything shower and smelling of cocoa and hibiscus and using moroccanoil on my hair and putting on a perfume that smells of jasmine and using a rose toner and doing all my silly little skincare before getting into bed to watch a comforting movie :'))
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A blue moon for the blue moon (wrote a lil thing here)
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You know it's actually sick and twisted that Rick ended the trials of apollo series
Clearly he wasn't thinking of the needs of others (me)
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I got love to give, and give and give
Rated T // 1,638 words
“What’s up with you, Buckaroo?” She laughs, poking his silly cheek.
“I love you,” he says, so sweet, looking even happier just to say it. “So much, Hen. Do- did you know it?”
“Yes,” she says, laugh still in her voice but chest a little tighter. “I know it, Buck.”
He drops his cheek to her shoulder, and then turns his head quick to kiss the spot. “Good. You’re the best. You should know it, a- a hundred- a thousand percent.”
—
Hen thinks about Buck at a party
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