#Being silent put me deeper in loneliest state.

[dollya-robinprotector]

More than half of August had passed and I still have so fucking much to do breathe breathe

[huenjin]

066. "stay over."

♡ pairing: jisung x reader ♡ genre: fluff, suggestive ♡ word count: 1,259 words ♡ note: totally from that scene in run on, ep14. nara reminded me of this and istg i cried because she's right, that scene could totally be envisioned with sungie <3

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"stay over."

"stay over at my place," you repeat and fidget with your fingers, throat parched but mind determined more than ever. your hand presses flat against the ripped parts of your jeans and your fingers pull at the strings in worry of a rejection. you repeat, "we could have some ramen over at my place. there'll be no one at home."

jisung's eyes widen and his grip on the steering wheel tightens as he turns to look at you for a short second before turning his attention back on the road, pressing on the gas a little more than he was a second back.

"all of a sudden?"

"no," you extend the syllable and puff your cheeks for a short while. "my house becomes empty once in a while, yeah," you chuckle. "i make one mean ramen. i promise."

it is this promise that leads you and jisung to sit next to each other on your bed, back against the wallpaper on the wall. jisung pulls at the blanket that covers his legs and he gulps silently, sneaking a look at you from the corner of his eyes only to find you to do the same thing.

"it's been forever since i sat simply," jisung breaks the silence and you look at him, your lips quirking up.

"is being a divorce lawyer that exhaustive, my dear lawyer?" you coo at him as you bring your head forward to touch his forehead. he nods in agreement, his head still in contact with yours and he pouts visibly. you bit the back of your lips as you try to hide your growing smile.

"do they fight in front of you?"

you pull your head back and sit straight, edging slightly closer to him. jisung quickly pulls his arm from under the blanket only to hold your hand and entangle his fingers with yours, gripping strongly at the junction and holding it up. he puts his hand in yours because you extend yours and vice vera. a relationship that simultaneously thrives on a give and take that benefits both you and him and that is what you would hold accountable for a healthy relationship between jisung and you.

"not always." jisung states. he ponders for a while, staring at your hand in his before looking up at you and saying, "you know what?" he lifts your entangled hands and drops it together onto the bed, back and forth in a rhythmic manner. you hum in response, indicating him to continue. "i've never actually thought of a person as such that to be there for me but the more i think about it, it'd be nice to have you around for a long time."

"i'll be there," you smile, rubbing the top of his hand with your other. "i'll be there by your side for as long as you get tired of me, but sungie, baby, if anything," you lift his hand up to kiss his knuckles, starting from the one to the supreme left and then tell him, "in the time i am by your side, i do hope i can inspire you to love yourself a little more than you did yesterday." you kiss the rest of his knuckles, one after another slowly.

jisung looks at you as you place butterfly kisses on his knuckles. he looks at you, eyes filled with emotions he wishes he could put to words, with a heart so heavy and overweighed with love for you, overwritten temporarily with an excessive amount of gratitude.

you look back up, your thumb grading his knuckles as you explain yourself a little bit more, "who do you think will be with me for a long time?"

"me?" his eyebrows raise up in sheer bewilderment.

you chuckle, "no, no," and you hold his hand tightly to reassure him. "it's me. in the end, i should be there for myself for a long time. i should be there to take care of myself and to love myself." you kiss his wrist and jisung softens at the unexpected kiss. "and therefore you should be there for yourself for a long time. that's the only way we can have a healthy relationship in which both people are there for each other to support each other and not because they complete each other. of course, the latter sounds romantic but it's too cheesy and quite scary." you place his hand back down and lean into his shoulder, head resting at the cap of it for a short while.

and in that moment, jisung knew one thing for sure. that this relationship was built on stone rather than sand, that this was more than futile high school dreams and rather a fulfilling relationship between two mature adults and he knows he's blessed to be in one.

because to han jisung, this is who you are — an anchor of the finest. when he was lost and in the worst point in his life — when he was the loneliest — he found you. he found someone as lost and wandering as he was. you were a coincidence, a happy miracle that happen to be in a quarrel with your taxi driver right in front of his firm.

since the day you held his hand confidently and took his help, you were jisung's everything. you are his everything.

"was that too serious? what if you kiss me to ease the mood?" you look at him, your tongue running across the bottom lip. jisung leans forward and your heart beats a lot quicker every single time he does the same. that is, until your boyfriend decides to stop, noses brushing against each other and you can count his eyelashes only to ask —

"are we not going to eat ramen?"

"yah," you whine in protest, pushing him slightly back only for your entire room to be filled with his soft laughter. you gasp, proceeding to his his arm softly, "are you really hungry?"

"but then you'd have been lying t—"

"did you really think i didn't mean anything else?"

jisung leans forward and places a soft peck on your lips. "i know," and he scrunches his nose upwards before cupping your face.

he touches your mouth. with one finger, he touches the edge of your lips. jisung draws it out with the pad of his fingers almost as if he yearns to remember it even with his eyes closed.

jisung look at you — he looks at you closely — each time closer and then it's symphony. it's symphony in the way his lips meet yours and moves against them. it's symphony in the way he pulls you closer and it's symphony in how he parts to dive deeper. his tongue overlaps over yours and you gasp, reaching out to hold his shirt for grip. the two of you are breathing confusion and yet there is certainty in the kiss — in the two of you — and that's what brings you home to him. your teeth grazes his lower lip before gently biting it and resting your tongue lightly against his only to be wrapped around by his warmth, his scent and him.

slowly, your hands go up to hide in his hair, slowly stroking the depth of his hair while both of you kiss with mouths that speak sweet nothings and lip full of falling flowers, of fiery passion, of burning lust.

and as jisung pulls you closer with a confidence so commanding, you know how he wins all his cases. his presence and his command could set the court room on fire.

[mi-ma-mo]

Sleep, Child

Character(s): Kokichi Ouma and K1-B0

Ratings: T for Teen and up audiences, M/M

Summary: Kiibo doesn’t sleep. He waits. This time shouldn’t have been any different, but Kokichi gives him an unexpected visit in the middle of the night.

Author’s Note: This fic takes place almost immediately after the 3rd trial and will touch on a few spoilers from up until that point. Special thanks go to @morgenglorie and @actualalvin for beta-reading this fic for me!

Read it here or on AO3.

Kiibo hated nighttime. To him, it was the loneliest and most nerve-wracking time of the day. During those hours he didn’t sleep; he waited. Every night he waited for morning to come, hoping that the others were sleeping safe and sound in their own beds.

It was lonely having nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. Only once a week he had to recharge himself and even then he was conscious during that process. Recently he had noticed that Saihara, Momota and Harukawa would stay up for a little bit longer after the nighttime announcement to train outside together. He wished to join them, but not wanting to intrude, he usually silently observed them for a moment before heading inside.

What bothered Kiibo more than not having company, however, was that he had no way of knowing if everyone was still alive until after he had counted all their heads at breakfast. He had liked it better when the Student Council had put a rule in place that allowed only its members to be active during nighttime, but in the end that hadn’t saved anyone.

With the Student Council gone, things had gone back to the way they once were, which meant Kiibo was back to worrying through every night in solitude- or at least that’s what he had expected this first night without the Student Council to be like.

He had been reading one of the books on the human mind he had gotten from the library when the sudden sound of his doorbell ringing gave him quite the scare. No noise escaped him, but he did get to watch his book drop from his hands and close on the floor without any indication of where he had stopped reading.

Whoever was standing on the other side of the door left him no time to mourn the loss of not being able to use his bookmark because they started ringing his doorbell relentlessly. Fearing something bad might have happened, Kiibo quickly got to his feet and moved to open his door. When he did, he was greeted by the face of the Ultimate Supreme Leader carrying his signature wide smile.

“Why are you here, Ouma-kun?” Kiibo asked, worry in his voice. The harsh things Ouma had said to him were still recent in his memory. He could do without being called emotionless or a piece junk again.

“Why? I came to kill you, of course!”

“K-Kill–?!”

Those words were enough to make Kiibo stumble back. For every step he took backward, Ouma took one forward. It had been his mistake to not close the door when he still had the chance because now Ouma was in his room and there was no way he was going to be able to push him out with only the strength of a healthy senior citizen.

"Nee-heehee... I'm just kidding," Ouma sang, kicking the door closed behind him with his heel. “The rules say we have to kill a person and then not get caught, so there’s no benefit to getting rid of a useless scrap of metal.”

Usually, Kiibo would call Ouma out on his robophobia, but just this once he would hold his metaphorical tongue. He wasn’t about to give Ouma any reason to believe he would make for a good victim. Kiibo was already nervous having the Ultimate Supreme Leader in his room as it was.

“Again, why are you here, Ouma-kun?”

“Heeehh? Are you still asking that? Put that artificial brain of yours to work and figure it out yourself!”

That was all Kiibo would be getting out of Ouma as an answer. Ouma suddenly sprinted past him and jumped towards his bed, arms outstretched. The bed made a loud “not good” sound as Ouma landed on it face forward. Laughing mischievously, Ouma rolled over on his side and then onto his back. Kiibo could only narrow his eyes at the sight.

“This bed is wasted on you, Kiiboy. You should be thanking me for using it!”

“You’re staying?” Kiibo asked, his face betraying his surprise.

“I don’t know. Am I?” Ouma replied, his voice suddenly monotone.

Kiibo clearly wasn’t meant to reply to that, because Ouma rolled over again and turned his back to him. The robot sighed before moving to pick up the book he had dropped earlier. With book in hand, he sat back down on the desk chair he had been using before he got so thoroughly disturbed. “Suit yourself then.”

There was a moment of peace in which the only sound filling the silence between them was that of Kiibo quickly going through the pages of his book to find the part where he had left off. Kiibo could feel Ouma’s eyes on him. He tried to pay it no mind, but he only managed to pay attention to his book for so long before the intense stare of these purple eyes became too much to bear.

“If you’re staying, you should try to get some sleep,” Kiibo suggested, keeping his eyes on his book in an attempt to make it seem like he was still reading.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeh?” The sound drawled out in a lazy manner, as if out of involuntary protest. “So it’s true, robots really don’t have a brain after all! As if I would sleep in the room of a potential murderer,” Ouma rolled around a bit on the bed again after he had said that, restlessly so, until he finally stopped after a full minute. His body remained motionless after that small tantrum.

Carefully, as if even the smallest movement would spring Ouma back into action, Kiibo looked over to see if he was still breathing. Kiibo was relieved to see the other’s chest go up and down still. To his surprise, Ouma seemed to be sound asleep now- the irony of that would have been hilarious to some, but Kiibo just went back to reading his book.

Reading was the most roundabout and inconvenient way for Kiibo to gain new information. Saving a digital version of the book he was reading would more efficient. However, because he had no internet connection at the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles, this wasn’t an option available to him. Regardless, even if it had been available, he felt as if he would have been spending his nights like this.

There was something comforting in turning page after page as so many humans had before him, just like Ouma’s slow and steady breathing was pleasant to listen to. Although their conversation had been short-lived and not at all desirable, Ouma wasn’t too bad when he was asleep. If anything, Kiibo would say he liked him better in this state.  

Being a quick reader (or as some might say in this case: a quick scanner), Kiibo finished reading chapter after chapter. Occasionally he shot a glance at Ouma’s sleeping face, smiling softly to himself every time before going back to reading. Just as Kiibo was thinking that being able to keep at least one person save through the night like this was nice, reality came in to burst his bubble.

Ouma had been moving in his sleep since the beginning as any human would, but at some point, it had evolved into the restless tossing and turning he was doing now. Another change to Ouma’s sleeping behaviour was the quickening of his breath. All the movement, as well as the ragged breathing, was a reason for concern to Kiibo. He slid his bookmark between the pages of his book before closing it and approached his bed to check on his guest.

Casting a shadow over the other’s trembling frame, he let out an unsure question. “Ouma-kun?” He leaned in, “Your body is signalling signs of distress. I will now attempt to pull you out of this state. I apologise in advance for waking you up.”

Kiibo reached a hand out to Ouma’s shoulder to shake him, but before he was able to, Ouma’s arms suddenly wrapped around his waist. A yelp escaped Kiibo as he was pulled down and onto the bed. In response to his scream, Ouma only held him tighter, like a bear trap setting its teeth deeper into its victim. Kiibo feared something bad was about to happen to him until Ouma’s sobbing registered with him.

“O-Ouma-kun? Hey…” No response. Kiibo was waiting for Ouma to reveal that these were crocodile tears as usual and that he was a stupid, useless robot for falling for such an obvious trick, but no such reveal came. There was a moment of hesitation before Kiibo returned the forceful embrace by taking Ouma in his arms.

Being unsure of what he should do next in a situation like this, Kiibo spoke the first thing to come to mind: “Fear not! You may cry on my chest if you wish. I am waterproof.”

Those words were good for a half-laugh, half-sob from Ouma. They stayed like this for some time; long enough for Kiibo to realize Ouma must have been having nightmares and that they were probably connected to his reason for coming over in the middle of the night to begin with. Kiibo was curious about what Ouma had seen in his nightmares, but even he knew better than to ask him about that now while he was still so shaken.

Ouma’s sobs gradually died down until the hands which had been so desperately holding onto Kiibo started pushing him away. For once Kiibo got the hint and let go of the other. Finally, he was able to have a look at Ouma’s face. The bloodshot eyes staring back at him only gave him more reason to believe those tears had been real.

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t say it,” Ouma warned him through gritted teeth, his voice cracking mid-sentence, “or Iruma-chan’s next maintenance session on you will take a lot longer!”

Kiibo had never been good at reading Ouma, but even so, he was certain this was the most sincere he had ever seen him. Heeding Ouma’s warning, Kiibo didn’t ask him how he was feeling or what was wrong. Instead, he cupped Ouma’s face in his hands and gently wiped away the last of his tears.

“If you don’t want to hear me talk, then I will listen instead.”

A shaky sigh passed Ouma’s lips as his face relaxed in Kiibo’s hold. The supreme leader looked like he could and would cry more still, but instead, he gradually closed his eyes as he leaned into the robot’s touch. ‘He’s only a child,’ Kiibo caught himself thinking as he silently studied Ouma’s features closely. Somehow Ouma seemed even more boyish like this. He looked soft, vulnerable. ‘He doesn’t deserve this.’

Ouma eventually opened his eyes again but avoided making eye contact as he pushed Kiibo’s hands away. When Ouma finally did look up to meet Kiibo’s gaze, his eyes were fierce and burning with an emotion Kiibo couldn’t place.

“You got some guts to tell me that... It better mean you plan on sticking around,” He paused briefly to take a sharp breath, “I need anything but a broken scrap of junk in my life. I don’t need you to listen, I just need you to live.”

‘………… Huh?’

Kiibo’s blush setting went all the way up as he put his recording of Ouma’s words on repeat. The heat coming off of him was so great that the temperature of the room went up by a few degrees.

“Y-You’re not making any sense!” Kiibo pulled his mask over the bottom half of his face to hide how hard he was blushing. His chest plate felt warm and he wondered if it was anything like having your heart beat fast, “Just a few hours earlier you were telling me that you were going to kill me.”

The seriousness which had surrounded Ouma ever since he had stopped crying disappeared immediately. He tilted his head to one side, his face expressionless as one hand reached for Kiibo. Just as Kiibo had been about to ask him what he was doing Ouma started knocking on his head loudly.

“Hello? Hello? Anybody home? Whoa, there really is nothing in there!”

“Correct. My motherboard and other essential components are stored in my chest.”

“Don’t outsass me.”

Kiibo wouldn’t pretend to understand the situation he had found himself into. Was this the same person who had told him all robots should be destroyed? He couldn’t differentiate the lies from the truth. Thinking that Ouma had to be messing with him as usual, Kiibo pulled his mask down again as his blushing function turned off.

“If you don’t want me to talk or listen, then that doesn’t leave me with a lot of options,” Kiibo mumbled, twiddling his fingers, “I will go back to reading and you should try to get some more sleep.”

“No,” Ouma replied immediately. He shook his head as he looked at Kiibo with tired eyes, “No, I… I don’t want that.”

The fear of going back to sleep wasn’t something Kiibo could relate to. He didn’t know what it was like to dream or to have nightmares. Even so, he realized that the images and sensations Ouma had experienced in his sleep must have been terrifying. What was Kiibo to do to make him feel better?

Needing guidance, Kiibo turned to his inner voice, but strangely enough, no reply came. The silence shook him. This was the first time his inner voice left him in the dark. However, without the help of the inner voice that usually guided him; the decision he made next was no one’s but his own.

“I could sing you a lullaby. Song of the Cradle has never been sung for me, but I know the words and the rhythm.”

What Kiibo failed to mention was that he had been practising singing this song in secret. He had sung for Saihara once before. The detective had hated it and even gone as far as to call his singing terrible. Kiibo had given up on becoming an idol after that, but nevertheless he had wanted to get better at singing by experiencing the hardship of training.

Ouma pulled up an eyebrow at him, but otherwise seemed to be intrigued by Kiibo’s suggestion. The child lay back down without a word, nuzzling his face into Kiibo’s pillow and closing his eyes. Kiibo took that as a sign he was allowed to start. Not needing to take a breath, his signing voice came out immediately:

“A canary sings A cradle song Sleep, sleep, Sleep, child!

Above the cradle, The loquat fruits sway Sleep, sleep, Sleep, child!

A squirrel rocks The cradle by its rope Sleep, sleep, Sleep, child!

Dreams in a cradle, With the yellow moon shining down Sleep, sleep, Sleep, child!”

Kiibo had sung his lullaby uninterrupted. He expected Ouma to be asleep again now, or at the very least for the other to praise him. No such thing happened. Instead, Ouma rolled over onto his stomach and groaned into the pillow, “Hu wah horobel.”

“Y-You don’t mean that!” Kiibo replied, his face heating up again, “I practised a lot! You’re lying.”

A defenceless yelp escaped Kiibo when Ouma threw the pillow at his head. After the impact of the throw, the pillow hit the floor with a soft thud. Although Kiibo couldn’t feel physical pain, he still reached for his forehead and got “teary” eyed.

“I would never lie to save your feelings because that would imply you have any. Your singing made me want to throw up and that is the truth,” Ouma did look like he was about to throw up, but if that was because of Kiibo’s singing or the fact that he was telling the truth was anyone’s best guess.

While still sitting on the edge of the bed, Kiibo turned around and bend over to pick the pillow up from the floor. He hugged the pillow to his chest when he moved to face Ouma again. There was quite a convincing frown on Kiibo’s face as he pouted at Ouma.

“You are mean to me. You insult me and you don't appreciate anything that I do!”

“Well, duh. You’re a piece junk and I'm an evil supreme leader, remember? Those are our roles. You gotta play by the book, Kiiboy! Imagine if you started using your head and thinking for yourself. That certainly would be a tragedy.”

Kiibo’s frown gradually disappeared from his face. His anger subsided despite being openly insulted. Ouma was right, that was the kind of relationship they had now. Still, did it really have to be that way?

“We could start over,” Kiibo suggested, his voice soft, “We both said a lot of things that you're going to regret, but I think we can put our differences behind us. I am K1-B0, the Ultimate Robot! But please, address me as Kiibo!”

“Do robots have dicks?”

“I said start over! Not repeat!”

The serene yet cheeky smile Ouma offered Kiibo was just barely enough to make up for the hurt Kiibo felt at getting his suggestion shot down. He could only assume this meant Ouma liked their relationship the way it was. Kiibo couldn’t say if he agreed with that, but that fact that Ouma seemed to have cheered up a bit did help to lift his spirits as well.

“Riiiggghhht,” Ouma finally replied, rolling his eyes and ruining the mood exceptionally fast, “I’m bored now. This conversation is over. I’m leaving, but I’m taking this with me,” Ouma had already yanked Kiibo’s pillow from his hands before Kiibo could do as much as “blink”.

“What? No, wait–!” Kiibo reached for Ouma to stop him, but the little devil was too fast. By the time Kiibo had gotten to his feet Ouma was already at the door. The Ultimate Supreme Leader sniggered as he opened the door and then put a finger to his lips in one swift motion.

“Don’t fantasise too much about me until morning. If you do have a dick, then keep it in your pants.”

And just like that, Ouma was gone. Baffled, Kiibo stared at his closed door. He took a few steps backward and felt behind him for his desk chair before allowing his legs to buckle under him. The desk chair creaked under his weight as he plopped down on it.

Kiibo’s heart felt heavy as he leaned back and began to slowly spin around on his desk chair. Only once he began to feel dizzy did he grab the edge of his desk to stop himself from spinning further. He pulled himself closer to his desk before placing his elbows on top of it. Leaning forward, he folded his hands and gently bumped his forehead against them.

He understood nothing, except for one thing.

“Don’t go dying on me either.”

[violetsystems]

#personal

I skimmed the title of a Vice article notification on my watch the other day.  It was something about lonelier friends expecting a lot in these troubling times.  It was too loaded for me to read deeper but it did get me thinking about loneliness.  I have been lonely.  I think for the people that read these regularly I’ve sounded lonelier.  The simple fact that people I barely know interact with me on a subtle and meaningful level might beg the question.  Everybody is lonely.  We seek to connect.  And most people are shut down.  If you’ve stuck with me through the years, you know I have faced this communication breakdown head on.  Barring my recent internet disruption.  The connection went down ten minutes into a video meeting Tuesday.  I spend a lot of time in a professional setting on video.  The time I spend online during work hours is less distracting.  When five pm rolls around, I saunter off to the couch, play games and read.  The last four days were mostly spent in my own thoughts.  An echo chamber of hurt around the world streaming directly to my phone on a capped LTE connection.  When the technician arrived to fix my internet, I had already mapped out the cabling.  In a fit of confusion at the wiring on my building, the tech decided to run the cable directly to the node.  I grabbed the line and helped as much as I could.  At some point, they asked for me to grab something for them from a tool bag.  Once the cabling had been run, I had to connect my cable box as a test.  After a sputtering rotation of channels, it landed on CGTN.  A familiar scene of terracotta warriors faded into the distance.  The title of the show playfully flashing back at me.  The link.  The masked tech grabbed the remote to test and switched the channel to ESPN.  It was an interview with Darius Leonard just after he had the incident at a chipotle.  The technician stood in silence and watched the tv.  I didn’t change it.  I didn’t say anything.  I could tell they were upset.  And so I listened and learned.  It wasn’t so much of a loneliness but a shared pain.  A pain that I can concur a lot of people don’t register because they are not living in these times as a person of color.  There are times when this feels awkward and invasive.  More so than the spiritual army of Xi’an just appearing in your living room.  But the time wasn’t really about me though in the end it was.  My internet bypasses everybody.  Maybe that’s symbolic.  Maybe that’s just the easiest way to move into the future.  But it wasn’t asking a lot to listen and process.  Even if it wasn’t expressed or stated.  People in general are asking for care and attention.  And we turn a blind eye and disconnect.  The lens of privilege can be even worse.  It’s hard to know who is asking for what from you these days.  Much less who is even a friend and what that means in an era of complete isolation.  For me I’ve just been with the moment.  Took it for what it was and rolled with it.  For years on here.  No validation.  Just echoes and whispers.  I don’t know what to expect.  I just know that I am not lonely.

The minimalism and isolation I’ve sought after has always been about safety, accountability, and intimacy.  I’ve lived alone for years.  It’s only been this year where my life and my space have intersected.  I don’t hang out with anyone much but I’m far from socially awkward.  If anything people abuse that.  If I frame a lot of what I’ve experienced the last few months I’d narrow it down to loneliness.  People are afraid.  They don’t know how to process.  They crave normalcy.  Some people just refuse to believe the truth.  They believe the earth is flat and all lives matter.  Some people believe that we’re all in this together though some of us have paid more in blood, sweat and tears than others.  Some people believe they can police what you think, say or do.  They can have a say in what you do and how you choose to live your life.  And those people are on both sides of the political fence.  Some people like to cause trouble.  They want you to feel their pain.  This is why we can’t have nice things.  And I’ve learned through isolation that most of my pain comes from the expectations of other people.  They can all add up when everyone is lonely.  Everybody makes excuses why you need to give them what they want.  That it’s time for you to listen.  And then there’s the fact that nobody listens, remembers or cares about anything I risked to help that loneliness.  I volunteered my time with credible organizations.  I spent long hours trying to connect and break through to people.  And I only found my life became more and more exhausting.  You can’t escape the performance of it all.  And yet the spectacle of America is very real.  I can’t say I’m hiding these days.  I’m sheltered in place.  I know now that people follow me around and keep tabs because they are afraid.  They test my patience and play these games for various reasons.  Some are valid to a point.  But there is another point when you are an easy stand in for the real problem.  A punching bag for your loneliest comrades.  If anyone can guess at my age I’m beat to death with nothing to show for it.  Other than this blog.  A place where I too found solace in my loneliness.  I came to grips with my own narrative and made peace with what I wanted out of life.  And now I’m sworn to protect it all.  By not saying a word to anybody about anything.  It’s in my signature line.  And it’s in my heart.  My intimate secret.  The most bare element that keeps me breathing.  The soft, cuddly voice that tells me not to give up.  A small tap on a cellphone display.  A network and community of people that I trust and care for deeply.

If anyone is asking anything of me there is one thing I know.  Never.  And I repeat.  Never to betray that trust.  I die with that.  I cry with that realization.  Because it’s a very lonely feeling to be silently understood.  The weight I carry isn’t something I can even explain anymore.  Years ago I’d be more sensitive about it.  I moan at the world in a sullen tone.  I begged for connections.  I wasn’t really connected to myself.  I didn’t know what I wanted out of life.  Now I do.  I have for a while.  I can’t tell anyone about that.  I haven’t been able to for years.  And yet there’s people I know who understand.  Mostly the people who read these week after week.  This space has always been sacred to me in that respect.  I’ve learned a lot about how I express myself.  I’ve learned how to listen not only to communities but to myself.  And the most difficult thing in these times is marking the boundary between you and what is expected of you.  From society.  From your parents.  From your job.  From your school.  From your friends.  From your lover or partner.  Knowing where you end and they begin.  Knowing how to stand in your own space and the minimize the baggage and distractions.  Knowing how not to break a sweat when the world is breathing down your neck.  When people expect more than is fair at a time when everyone puts themselves first.  Knowing how people feel.  Understanding this and loving them enough to walk away than react.  Giving people space in their emotions whatever they are.  But also knowing that this constant trial and judgement from mobs of popular opinion is just more of the same.  And sometimes it’s a symptom of a larger problem.  Systemic Racism.  Sexism.  Predatory behavior.  Do you hush it away and pretend it can’t happen here?  Or do you look it point blank in the eye and tell it that it has no place in your home?  Do people believe you when you say this?  Have you lived your life and made sacrifices for the causes you champion and expect empathy from?  These aren’t things I ask of other people.  These are daily conscious questions I force myself to face.  The white fragility shudders and whines.  It shrieks in the light of the truth.  It asks to be understood and doesn’t see why it isn’t.  And I see myself in that and see what I don’t want to be anymore.  Some people have not even started to face that critical whiteness.  White people can’t stand to be silent.  And yet this is what people of color are asking.  White Americans can’t imagine being silent because without the English language they wouldn’t actually do anything.  Actions speak louder than words.  And in that respect I’ve never been lonely keeping the secret I share.  And as much as I do write I’m thankful people who I trust care to listen.  I would much rather talk about building my gaming rig or what meta of deck will cancel bot culture in online video games.  Maybe we’ll get to that someday.  We have all the time in the world if we keep it sacred.  And I hear and see that these days loud and clear.  Behind closed doors with the lowest latency possible.  Doesn’t feel lonely at all.  <3 Tim