XX: We All Need Saving

This is rather cliché, but this is a casual letter to a heart that has grown… tired.

Have you ever been to that point when you realize that being numb is a lot more painful than actually being hurt?

Dear Heart,

 

You’re at the point where you don’t really understand yourself anymore – you know you’re hurting, but you can no longer feel.

You no longer feel because you choose not to – because you’ve grown so tired of the fact that the world doesn’t really care whether you get hurt or not. You just do and you have to live with it. And it sucks.

Because now I have to believe the lies I make for us – and end up having to believe it. Because it is saving us both. You end up thinking you’re fine when you’re not – and somehow that seems a lot better. But for me? It is not. I linger and think and think and think, but it’s a ridiculous cycle and that is a cycle that we should’ve been rid of by now.

I know you’re going through it right now – the cycle. You lie – you lie to yourself to always believe that someone and something is still good for you. And for a while it feels good. But I know – I know better. Why don’t you ever listen?

I think you’ve already realised that you are only dancing with the impossible – your own foolishness. Why do you still have such expectant eyes?  Why are you still so happy – and why do you only care about the little moments, when you know you’re going to be an empty husk thereafter?

You have to realise that you can’t fix people and their twisted sense of mind. And you have to realise that you can’t make things defy their primary purpose. For example, you can’t make a rock jump willingly – but it seems like that’s what you want to do.

That’s fine I guess – the way you’re managing this. But the earlier you realise what I just said, the better. Because the thing with your kindness is that when shit hits the fan, you still think “Well, the fan still works,” albeit the fan having shit all over it. Maybe you should start thinking “This fan has been shat on, perhaps I should clean it.”

As much as I would like to abide with the latter, the same analogy can’t be used on people. You can clean all the shit out of their faces, but they still have shit inside them. And it’s sad because it would be gross if you had to put your hand all the way up their innards just to clean them up. Ick.

So yep, just give up and move on. There are a lot of better things to waste your time on than thinking how to fix someone just so it works for you. If they want things to work for you, they would’ve done something about it and be consistent. Because that’s how things should work. That is my advice to you. Seek the better things, something I’ve learned from school – though I don’t seem to apply it. Don’t settle for fans that have been shat on.  I’ve learned my lesson – it’s high time that you do, too.

This is just me talking. I will never have control over you other than to keep you beating. I’m just hoping that one day, you will finally listen.

 

With the best intentions,

Brain

https://open.spotify.com/track/2L9dSBrh6Gmtna30EKnHRc

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XIX: I Don’t Know — The Art of Letting You Go

One leaves in confusion, just as the other is left unsure.

Damian and Louise… in a boiling point. (Cool, I’m naming my characters now!)

And I still suck at introductions. Haha!
——————————————–

Louise has written a letter last night and leaves it on the nightstand, where she’s sure you’d find once you get up and open your eyes.

She gets up and leaves with a stuffed backpack, hastily packed but quietly, in hopes of not waking you up.

You wake up and rub your eyes, wary, noticing that she isn’t beside you. You palm at her side of the bed, but it isn’t warm as you expected.

You get up slowly and notice something on the nightstand. You grab the folded but welcoming letter on the stand and glare at it. You hold it in your hands while your knuckles whiten, crumpling the paper a bit.

* * *      * * *      * * *

Damian,

Remember that time when you said you loved me for the first time?

That was two years ago, I think – and then you left just as hastily so, for about 5 weeks. When you came back, you were completely engrossed in a whole lot of different things, and I was aptly abhorred when I was starting to figure out that none of those things involved me.

I wanted to be involved, of course – you said you loved me and I said it back, and I thought it was a mutual understanding that we were to start working on something together. Technically, that should be it, but I didn’t want to demand.

You would always be on your phone, smiling, laughing, and then suddenly leaving me alone with no idea where you’re actually going. Were you cheating? Were you falling in love with someone else?

I was there, watching you, every day being shattered, as I see you smiling genuinely against your phone screen. Until one day you left your phone out and I saw it there, a message previewed clearly… someone sending you a message that they will just brush their teeth, preceded by a word of endearment.

I didn’t want to know – but I knew enough that I’ve already lost you. But I felt that maybe you’d come around and realise what you’re losing.

So I waited… for nothing.

Until one day after about 8 months, I realised I was tired of all that bull and asked you straight: “Is there something out there for us anymore?” – I asked this with a nervous voice, crackling in my own uncertainty, my palms all sweaty and shaky.

You hugged me right then – quiet, with no actual answer.

So I talked to clear the air. I said: “Because I don’t really know what we are…”

And remember what you said?

“Do what you want,” with a calm voice.  You didn’t say it like you were mad at me for asking, but a gentle letting-go, the way I understood it.

I was shattered – because I expected at least that you would’ve held me back, or at least got mad at me – punched me, or something (then I accuse you of battery, because lol).

But I choked and swallowed my heart back in.

I ran away – for a weekend, so I can take a breather. I went across the country so I can be away from you. When I came back, I started to entertain someone else – where you never really had anything against either way.

So I took the hint (finally) – that we were really over.

And since that day I asked you, I never heard anything.

I started meeting other people, because I was completely convinced we were over. You found out I was starting to terribly fall in love with someone who sounded like an angel (literally). Someone who depicted the perfect stranger, awkward yet adorable – to whom everything just felt right.

You started jumping around and panicking and not knowing what to do. You started trying to take me back – begging, and I just wouldn’t hear it. You were terrifying me with actions, leaving around clues that you were hurting yourself. I felt it – I wanted to save you, my Messiah syndrome almost taking over – but I was so blinded by the attention that I was begging from you for so long that I was getting from someone else. I have found my saving grace, and there was no way to convince me to come back.

Then some few months ago, I went out alone and been away for days, if you still remember. That was when I realised that what I needed wasn’t a saving grace, but a fresh start.

Apart from being happy with my saving grace, the desire that I had to get rid of the memory of you was still the biggest deal. Although it brings me happiness to think of what we’ve had before (no matter how small it was), the things that I had to go through for you – the hurt still outweighed the happiness. It was heavy against my heart and was heavy against my soul, and I was beyond prostrated.

So I had to break myself and let my saving grace go – because it was unfair for him to have to fix something that is so broken. To never really have something complete; to have something that comes with excess baggage.

Afterwards, I’ve been trying – trying real hard to push through. I tried – but we’ve still went back to our old adage – to our old misunderstanding, and I fear we will never really be rid of it.

I don’t think you will ever understand why I love computer games, why I love talking, and why I love to write – why I love to read and why I like talking about feelings – why my emotions fleet and why I’m ridiculously into you and how hard it is to know that you’re mine in paper, but you never really are. This uncertainty sets my whole world into chaos, and I know you’ll never understand why I want assurance, especially from you. Because I don’t want to be with someone who only holds my hand when no one else is looking. To be with someone who claims to love me unconditionally, but only as long as no one else knows.

The thing is that, if I wanted to be understood, of course, I had to understand you.

That’s the thing. I don’t understand you. And I think I will never.

I will never understand why you prefer your solitude over my presence, and why you’re more engrossed with your phone than my idle chatter. I will never understand why you would prefer to go to places with other people rather than take me along, and why you love to have people looking at you, when all you ever say is that I’m the only one who’s supposed to be looking.

I will never understand why you have this unknown desire to have people chase after you only to break their hearts afterwards, and how you act all innocent, saying that “it’s not like that.”  I will never understand why you helplessly desire the things you don’t have – but when you finally get them, twisted around your little finger and hangs tight no matter how hard you shake them off, you’re instantly indifferent. How you love the chase but hate the runaround, and how you love the challenge, but never the reward.

I will never understand why you keep pictures of other people on your phone, but never pictures of us. Our pictures, or even pictures of myself and myself alone. You would tell me you’d rather stash them somewhere… why? So other people will not see that you’re in a caboodle with me. Am I ugly? Is it because of my crooked teeth and my broken nose? Is it because I’m a big scandal? I guess these are things I want to leave unanswered – to spare myself.

I will never understand why you prefer to consume all your energy on things that have hurt me before – why you have to consume your passion on other people you have so pleasantly desired before and slap them hard against my face, as if the thought that you’re still trying to grab their attention isn’t punishment enough. I will never understand why you make beautiful things come up out of your small-time flings and perhaps, maybe, one night stands.

I know you see me as someone with great fortitude, but god, don’t you ever feel how hard it is to mask how destroyed I am by your self-proclaimed innocent ways of hurting me? I’m not the one to make demands so I’ve always kept my thoughts in check and try my best to lie – to make things seem convincing in making you stop. You’ve seen me cry a well for you, but the thing is, you only try to understand me when I cry – but never afterwards. You tend to go back to your old ways, and it annoys me that no matter how hard I try, you’re never really going to be in tune with my feelings. And I know it annoys you how in touch I am with my emotions, even though I’ve learned the hard way that in dealing with you, I must not be emotional.

But I would like to stay true to myself. I want to feel things, and I want the people I love to feel them too – because feelings are beautiful, albeit at times, tiring. I don’t want to be purely objective. I don’t want to be someone else’s secret, and someone else’s play toy. And see – if you’re even reading up to here, I don’t think you would still understand why you piss me off so much. And I don’t even know why, myself! I just throw out words here and there, but I know I still can’t pinpoint it myself. I can say simple things: how you’re brilliant, yes, but you’re also a dick. But that’s as far as I could go.

Anyway, the saddest thing now is that I became expectant… again. Literally the same mistake I did when you suddenly withdrew all your emotions for me. I expected you to change, and you did – but there’s still something… off. My trust issues would not wane, no matter how much I want them to.

But I still want you. I don’t know. I guess that’s my fault – but I’ve long since figured that we’re drifting apart anyway – why don’t we just rush and get it over with? We will never understand each other. You’re made of metal and myself of ice. I will be the first one to break, so please be kind.

What the hell am I saying?

You know what? However much I get mad and how much I try to tell you that you’re crap, I still am in love with you, and I don’t think I will ever learn how to let you go.

I’m hopelessly terrified that you only say you’re in love with me because it’s convenient, because I will always be here, and I will always be available.

But what if it’s no longer convenient, and it’s no longer the same between us? What if you’re away or I’m away and you go back to your old, cheating ways?

I guess I am wrong to hold out anymore, because I don’t think I can trust you ever again, and maybe that’s why I’m this confused.

What are we really? Where do I go from here? Where do you intend to go, and what are your real intentions?

I’m so messed up right now and I’m not sure why I’m even asking you questions when I don’t really want to hear the answers.

Well, shit.

Good morning, by the way. I made breakfast.

Louise

P.S.

I choose not come back, but stop me if you will. I don’t know how.

I don’t know.

————————–

Damian finishes reading, unaware of what he’s feeling. It was a clash of everything – and all he ever thought about was… he knows staying together will never be good enough, but he doesn’t really know what would be good enough.

And then he drops the letter, running out of their bedroom door. He runs downstairs to find the breakfast she has prepared for him – two eggs fried in a heart shape and three strips of bacon. There was a small note beside the plate that says “Hang in there”. Damian grabs it angrily and flips it around. “I don’t know, but I’ll try to hang on, too” it says on the back, her handwriting apparently hasty, suggesting she wrote this hastily as she left.

She’s terribly confused, Damian thought, his tears inching to the sides of his eyes.

He punches the table and the plate of eggs jump. He doesn’t know why he’s so mad. He punches again, harder this time. The plate falls on the floor and shattered to pieces, the egg yolks bleeding out.

He looks around to find the framed artworks they’ve both hung by the stairs of their apartment. He squinted his tears back as he breathed out “I don’t know the art of letting you go…

* * *

This write-up was the result of being inspired by Tori Kelly’s song – Art of Letting You Go. Please look her up! A sample of the song is above via soundcloud, but I augmented it a bit into a male version to keep things in line.

XVIII: Only Good Things

Only Good Things – Spotify

* * * * *

Trapped in a sense of wonder,
tell him once more how you feel about him.
But how will he ask? He thinks.
How will he ask? He thinks.

The cards dealt wrong,
he chooses to forget – and you do, too
But how does that work? He asks.
How does that work? He asks.

Watch the night as it creeps to close your eyes
Good things. He calls the good things.
But how can he do that? He wonders.
How can he do that? He wonders.

He smiles.
He wonders if you still see the good.
But how will he ask? He thinks.
How will he ask? He thinks.

Consumed by his thoughts,
the mind he detests.
But when will it stop? He asks.
When will it stop? He asks.

Good things, only good things…
Run. Walk. Work it out.
But what does the future say? He wonders.
What does the future say? He wonders.

He closes his eyes.
Good things, only good things.
He drifts away.
Drifts as his thoughts dance.

He’s writing like how you write –
he’s writing to you in your words.
Gapless playback and
four seconds crossfade.

He tries.

The songs, they talk.
They mean something.
Good things.
Only good things.

Listen to the sound and you
will hear how his heart sings –
how it resonates:
Good things… think only of good things.

* * * * *

https://open.spotify.com/user/jmatthewvera/playlist/0jAOtr2XDrWSv0Txmq6TGf


XVII: The crazy storm named You-and-I

Imagine two people on an ECG tracing shaped roller-coaster ride: went up, went down, peaked to the top, and then crashed.

* * * * *

“…I think they know about the little something we have,” you whispered through a partial smile.

“Little something we have?” He asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t we…? Aren’t we…?”

“What?” He asked, his confusion bubbling.

“Isn’t there something between us?”

“What is it?”
“Oh.” You said, stopping in an uninspired tone. You started to look defeated, as if you wanted to choke him for being so dense. “I guess I just assumed…”

“Assumed what? Complete your sentences, for sanity’s sake!”

“Assumed we had something! That we were a thing!” An angry tone escaped you, catching him off-guard.

He would normally talk endlessly about things you could never talk about with anyone else, yet at this moment, the silence was deafening – all he did was stare.

He didn’t know what to say – was it immature to admit that he couldn’t understand, why after everything he’s been through – how this still felt very alien? “Oh…” he trailed off.

You grabbed his face angrily and kissed him as his world started burning. “I know you feel something,” you said breathlessly. “Let me in.”

* * * * *

He’s nervous. He wanted to ask you to hang out but was afraid of rejection. Why has it always been this way? He wondered.

He wondered if there were other people who felt the same way he did: being terrified of finding out that you’re not as important as you thought you were – how you’ve made your world revolve around something, only to find out that that something did not even want you around.

“You want to see me, don’t you?” Your voice was sparkling through the voice box like a breath of fresh air. “Don’t you?” You continued to tease.

His laughter was nervous and dotted. “You got me,” he said with a smile – relieved of his morbid thoughts.

“You simply have to ask,” you said. “I’d come running if it was you.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said, stifling a pink giggle.

“I mean it,” you deadpanned to make yourself sound extremely serious.

“Really?” He lightened up.

“Meet me at the noodle place, 6PM.”

“Got it.” He curled his fist in anticipation, smiling uncontrollably.

“Don’t be late!” You plunged the call off as he sighed out in comfort.

He’s relieved how well that worked.

* * * * *

Everything started to go down when you started to control him. What drove you to become manipulative, he does not know.

For the first part, he thought there was something wrong with him – until words came out of your mouth, how you screamed like a banshee: “What do you want?!”

You knew what he wanted – and he knew where this was coming from. You can’t let go of the idea that he’s cheating on you. The way you spoke so condescendingly made him decide not to defend himself; you’ve already had the theories laid out on your head and he knew these were the only things you’d believe.

“I don’t know how to assure you,” he said. “I don’t know. But I know I want you and I want this to work,” he continued.

“Liar,” you said with contempt.

He kept his mouth shut.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, looking down on him as if he’s trash.

He returned a question. “Is this what makes you happy? Keeping me the underdog? You know that’s not how this should work.”

“I’m not trying to do anything, you fucking cheater,” you said.

“You’ve already went through everything: my mail, my Facebook, my phone – what else should I give?” He asked, his voice shaking – scared.

“That’s the problem – you allowed me to look at all those, yet you’re still hiding things from me!”

“I am not!” The look on your face was different. Was it because you didn’t expect him to shout like that?

He wiped the corner of his eye. “You’ve gone through everything, love – everything. But you keep interpreting everything wrong. I talk to people, that’s kind of how people live. They talk.”

You sat there in awe. He held your hand and you let him. “Just because I talk to them doesn’t mean I like them that way. Come on, you’re old enough to know that…” he said.

“But it scares me,” you said. “It scares me that someone else might fall in love with you.”

“Me? Fall in love with me?” He said, smiling as his mood lightens. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not.” His tone didn’t even change yours – you still sounded serious.

“They won’t. And you’ve seen how I keep telling people I’m already seeing someone – that someone is you,” he pointed to your heart as he ended – and things went smoothly from there.

* * * * *

Nothing ever changes, does it? He contradicted even his own beliefs.

The issue never really ceased, but instead, had decided to take on a different course.

“How much space do you really want, huh?” You asked. “It’s been a week and I miss you so bad – how could you go on that long without talking to me?”

He kept his mouth shut.

“You’ve already found someone new, haven’t you?” You asked.

Silence.

“Speak!” You screamed. “How could you do that?”

He couldn’t bear the thought of talking back at you – but he sure wanted to. Where had the person – the person that piqued his interest to the extent of passion went? He thought to himself, basically ignoring all the rant you were blabbering.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” You asked, making his head shoot up.

He knew he still did. He doesn’t know why – but maybe it’s because he keeps looking at the good, even when the bad had obviously taken over.

He’s decided to be realistic.

“I am –” his voice broke as he cleared his throat. “I am still in love with you,” he said. “But I no longer see a future with you. Does that make sense?”

You cried, and everything went down from there.

“Why does this keep happening to me? Is there something wrong with me?”

“I’m not leaving you,” he said. “We’re not even together.” He stressed. “But love, I still want this to work – you have to listen to me.”

“No,” you said, your tone light and different. “I don’t want someone who doesn’t see a future with me – I’m too old to be playing games like that.”

“Games?!” He asked, mad. He was going to fight for you one last time – but decided not to. He caught himself in his welling anger and breathed it out.

You’ve already set your mind, and he knew he couldn’t change that.

“Just go,” you said with finality.

“Alright. You win,” – and then he left. He wanted to look back, but he stopped himself.

* * * * *

XVI: “How do you know when someone matters?”

Follow this story of two people, where their short time together seemingly revolved around the question: “How do you know when someone matters?” This will be quite quick — no lotsawords and all those shimmies.

* * * * *

You walked up to him and gave him a look of modesty. You come around and he called your cell. You spoke through the phone in such a way that he thought you were too shy. He even felt that it was intimidating to even talk back. An eerie feeling rushed through him, as if he knew it was going to be bad if he lets his guard down.

There’s something wrong with him; he’s used to evaluating people in a glance. He was fixated on the thought that you’d be quiet and it would be hard, because he knew he’d be quiet, too. He predicts. He fabricates scenarios in his head that aren’t even going to happen — that it feels almost like a disease. So he tried to spark up random conversations to drown the thoughts — whatever it was that came out of his head — and tried to keep the loop going.

He was surprised to learn you had a lot of things to say, but he kept it quiet with a smile.

* * * * *

“Don’t walk too fast,” you said. “Relax. Slow down.”
He noticed your legs were long so he thought you’d both be on the same pace.
“Sorry,” he said.

A few seconds passed and he immediately declared he can’t walk slowly. You laughed heartily at this, and he laughed at the way you chuckled. This kind of banter went on until you both ran out of things to say.

Only to end up having a mutual desire for food and noodles.

* * * * *

“You should go on your own pace,” he advised you over cups of coffee and tea.
You nodded. You thought that was a nice thing to hear.

He appreciated how he could be of service.

He knew he should say this — because he understood this part better than you did.
You probably thought the same.

* * * * *

“How do you know when someone matters?” He asked out of the blue.
You fell deep in thought for a few seconds, but you came up with an answer real quick.

“When you find yourself… when you find yourself going out of your way to make time for someone… I guess that’s how I know. How about you?” You said.

He thought, hard. But he couldn’t find anything.

Until he went home, he was thinking.

Is it when he thought of someone who had died — and feel a great feeling of sadness?
No. He thought. He rationalized that this was a natural reaction to something as grave as death. So he scratched that off.

He let his brain wander. Of course his family mattered — so he scratched that off as well.

He knew he was supposed to think of a different kind of “someone.”

He scratched his head and proceeded to talk to you through the phone, trying to divert his attention onto something else so he could take a breather and stop thinking for a while.

You said good night and he did, too. He was determined to fall asleep, only to find out he’d be stuck with the same question in mind. As for you — you fell asleep rather quickly.

Days passed and the thoughts kept on going.

Is it when he would always try to save someone from making a monumental mistake?
No. He thought. That’s how humane people think. People shouldn’t drag other people down with them, so they help. But they will probably laugh at you first. He carried on. The thought then ramified to how severe his distaste was of how he was absurdly optimistic.

Is it when he puts someone else’s welfare over his? Passable, he whispered to himself. But there was something off about this thought that he couldn’t put his finger on — so he scratched this off.

He gave up thinking after a lot more attempts, and the days that passed felt very trying.

He wanted to talk to you, but you already seemed so distant.

You’re probably busy. He rationalized.

But the busy days just carried on — even for him. You both carried on with life and you eventually lost touch.

He then realized, after so many days of being busy, how he’d know when someone mattered to him.

It’s when someone makes him think. And when he’s kept thinking, he writes. Someone matters to him when he writes about them. When he writes to you… when he writes about you.

What a dumbass, you’d think. He’d been wasting time running around the question over and over. He never really had to dig that deep to figure that out.

Because by the time he knew the answer to his own question, it was too late to even say the words he should have already told you.

– – – – –
You’re cursed with overthinking.

XII: Conversations

Let it Go

Conversations are awesome. No matter how weird it might seem, it’s obvious that people enjoy listening: listening to other people talk, to other people sing, and basically to other people living their lives. Quite the same as talking.

People who read would understand. Every beautiful set of words that depicts a picturesque setting or a colourful feeling matters, of course, but the dialogue can hold its own weight even if it’s short or long. It’s the discourse that shapes relationships, leaves the dents, and heals the cracks that altogether makes the story whole.

So I’ve piled up a few conversations; mostly related to shit like love and stuff. Some of them from my write-ups that’s scribbled all over the deep behind of my College notes, and some from my unheard-of works stranded in both wooden libraries and electronic ones, apparently collecting mildew. Melodramatic conversations, happy conversations — you name it.

________________________

“That’s kind of not how it goes. It’s not his fault that he’s not you.”
“That’s the first mean thing you said that I like.”

(Behind my CHEM2 Notebook [2011, I think?])

____________

“Hey, Is this a good concept?”
“Seems desolate. Not really your thing.”

(SHORT: The Painter [2009])

________________________

“Joan, you’re a girl… right?”
“I am? That’s odd.  I have no idea when that happened.”

(WRITE-UPS: Project Bebes [2012])

____________

“Sooo… what would you do if someone told you that they loved you?”
“Depends on what kind of love we’re talking about. “

“The kind between… Well, pretend you’re a woman and—”
I am a woman.

“That’s not what I meant. Pretend you’re another woman.”
“I need context. Do I love them back or did this come up out of nowhere?”

“I don’t know if you love them back. Maybe you do, I don’t know.”

(WRITE-UPS: Project Bebes, 2012)

________________________

“How do I look?”
“Does the word ‘dork’ mean anything to you?”

“What?”

(Behind my NCM101 Notebook [2009])

____________

“Okay! Okay! So we were kissing. Is that such a bad thing? I mean, we’re both consenting adults and I’ve been waiting for this for a long time and — Whoa… whoa… whoa! You two! You two were kissing!”
“…we were?”

(INC: Songs I wish you sang for me [2013/4])

________________________

“As much as I would hate to admit it… But… I’ve never really had a chance to date someone. Or anyone.”
“Well, then here’s step one. Do you want to go out with me?”

(If only I could tell you, I would let you know [2010])

____________

“Why? Is love reserved?”
“…”

“You can give love to anyone.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m in love with Cody?”

“No, but if that’s what you think, then —”
“I love him because he’s the only friend that I’ve ever had and I wouldn’t want that to change.”

“If that’s the case, then I have a chance.”

(Hold on [2009])

________________________

“Look, it’s never going to be perfect. You just have to live with it, and learn to like all the flaws. I want to do whatever it takes to make this work because I love you… with all the geekiness that comes with it.”

(SHORT: The King and The Geek [2013?], Behind my Pharma mock-test thingy book)

____________

“Are you sure this is the right time to talk about this? You’re…”
“Try not to be bothered.”

“Then what should I say?”
“Say that you… like me, too?”

“For one, you make me feel good. Does that count?”
“What do you mean?”

“When I’m with you, I feel this odd force pulling me towards you. It’s a bit sickening, in a good way. Is there a good side on that word? I don’t know… What am I saying? Okay, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“Does that mean that you…?”

“I don’t know. What do you think? I really want things to work… maybe for us — maybe for everyone. Between the ophii and our impending doom, the only thing I care about is losing more people that are close to me — and I know that you’re one of those people.”
“So… you…”

“I just don’t want it to end. My life — your life… and maybe this thing between us, too. I don’t know. But if you don’t feel the same way…”
“Don’t put your words into my mouth.”

“So what are you thinking?”
“What I think? I don’t even have time to think. All I want to do is this.”

“This?”
“This.”

(INC: Asunder, 2013)

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Okay, if I wasn’t too lazy, this would be longer, but I honestly think this is ALREADY too long. Haha! I’ll leave the last one to your sense of wonder.

Oh dear no