#I wrote a poem last night for the first time in a month I think

[crybaby-bkg]

asking nerd Bakugou to give you a ‘pearl necklace’ and he starts grumbling about you tryna drain him dry but instead of pulling out his cock, he pulls out his phone to actually search for a pearl necklace </3

and to both his surprise and embarrassment, his phone is quickly tossed away in favor of you showing him what you’re actually asking for. he’s not mad though—not when you end up looking so pretty covered in white, grinning, and asking for another necklace <3

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

so :D i wrote my first ever fanfic because i was intrigued and want to know if i could do it. i hope you like it :)) i nerded out way too much on this one so spare me pls be kind!

description: set during the battle of manhattan, tlo. slightly canon divergent. lot of percy angst. tw: su!cidal thoughts. percys pov. percabeth being cute. based on the poem 'stopping by the woods on a snowy evening' by robert frost :)

Miles to Go Before I Sleep- A PJO Fanfiction

I couldn't sleep that night. I paced the room for two hours until late night as if there was something terrible was going to happen. I was worried sick--about Annabeth, about the war, about everything. At midnight, moonlight streamed through the hotel window as I sat, almost lifelessly on the bed, staring into nothing. Suddenly, I heard a creak in the door, and I was about to snatch riptide before I heard a whisper, "Percy? You awake?"

In the shadows, I saw the familiar figure of Grover, tired after a long day of attending to the satyrs. He sat down next to me on the bed, and we both stared at the wall in comfortable silence. For a moment, I could almost close my eyes and imagine that we were 12 year olds at Yancy again. "The Apollo kids are seeing you through the hotel surveillance cameras. They sent me to ask you to sleep" "Since you're the only one right now who I'll listen to?" ".....yep"

While Grover rambled something about him being my unofficial mom right now, I looked at my bedside table, and there it was. Pandora's Jar. Man, I wished the stupid thing would stop following me around, and right now, it wasn't the best time for me to want to resist opening it. Unfortunately, Grover read my emotions. "You want to open it, don't you?"

The question, which had always been on the back of my mind, really stung now that it was said out loud. I think Grover could see I was breaking down a little on the inside, and wrapped me in an awkward hug. "I-I do," it came spilling out of my mouth, my voice cracking. "It just feels like the Fates are giving me an opportunity instead of a challenge. I feel like everything around me is falling apart. I'm not good at handling war. If I give up to Kronos, he'd kill me, as long as I'd make him promise he wouldn't hurt you guys. It's just easier. It's better for everyone else" My eyes felt wet, and I pulled away quickly. Grover looked so lost, I immediately felt bad for making him worry about me. "Go to sleep, Percy," he said in a painful tone, as if I was a delusional grandpa who had gotten loose from the nursing home bed. Before I could say anything, he pulled out his reedpipes. Before I could protest, he started playing soft, sweet music and before I knew it, I was asleep.

In my dream, I was sitting with Annabeth in the strawberry field, while she had a book in her lap. Annabeth was smiling, her hair glinting in the sunlight. She was okay. We were okay. It was a sunny day and all the campers were having fun. I remembered this day; this conversation had happened two months before the war. Woah. That felt so far away.

"I finally found the greek version of this poem!" she said excited, her eyes sparkling, which gave me butterflies. "This poem is really famous for the last four lines, wait-wait, I'll read it out to you" She picked it up. "So the English version of these lines are: "The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep" I bumped her shoulder with mine. "Ok, nerd...what's the point?"

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "It basically means that the poet wanted to die and found death a beautiful easy way out, but he realised he still had a duty in his life and that he still had a long way before his time to go, isn't that so poetic?" "I guess. You're better at this than me"

This didn't happen that day, but she opened her arms, as if about to hug me, probably due to Grover's magical reedpipe music, and for a second I felt elated that life felt livable again, before the ground opened up before she could, and I fell into endless darkness.

I woke up, shaking. I felt like I had been given a sweater in the cold before it got snatched away, leaving me back in the freezing winter. Grover was cuddled up with me. I wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted things to be alright again. I wanted to see Annabeth happy and nerdy as usual and hug her. But sunlight streamed in through the window, and I forced myself out of the bed and went up the stairs to where Annabeth was.

When I walked up to her in the chair, my heart broke again. She looked so different from the dream. Her eyes were weakly staring at the view, she was shivering and her face was still a little gray. "Hey" she said. I checked up on her, talking to her about her health, which was slowly getting better, thankfully, but it didn't stop me from feeling guilty.

As I stared at her hopelessly, Pandora's Jar appeared on the table next to her. Annabeth studied my face. "We should put it in a place where it stays there"

I nodded my head in agreement. I took the jar gingerly in my hands. I looked out into the view from above. The whole city was in my sight. I saw demigods rebuilding the mortal's homes, some of which were damaged after the day's fight. I saw Nico rejoining a skeleton from his army's bones, with Will hovering curiously from a distance. "Is that a coccyx ?" "....it's a bone" If I died, he'd be the prophecy kid. I saw two tired aphrodite girls staring at a broken mirror, as if wondering where their life (and skin) started to break. I needed to keep them going. I needed to survive, I couldn't let them down. I needed to give them what they were fighting for. They were fighting for me. All my depression would have to wait for another day.

"It must be annoying," Annabeth said. "Don't you ever just want to open it?"

"Nah," I gave her my bravest smile, as I carried the jar to the door, where I would give it to be locked in a storage locker in the hotel. "I have promises to keep; and miles to go before I sleep"

[charlidos]

I keep writing Viggorli fanfiction in my head, sometimes with a little help from Viggo's poetry. I think Viggo uses his art and poetry to express himself, but of course no one but him can know what he was thinking when writing it. But I can imagine. And I wish to imagine he wrote some of them thinking of Orlando. I'm sure my imaginations and theories are only new to me.

As with the O+H painting, the poems which are dated from the time frame of filming LotR (1999-2002) can reasonably be considered to be quite influenced by everything Viggo experienced while in New Zealand. He spent 18 months+ there, after all. For this reason, I read his poem Communion imagining he was also under the heavy influence of love for his elf boy. And to me, it reads like a very romantic but also very wistful poem. So this story would be labeled "friends to lovers, angst".

In my view, at least two sort of objective facts, support my not-very objective theory that Orlando is the unamed object of desire, namely Viggo's choice of words:

"Bloom of compassion" - the most obvious (too obvious even? - or hiding in plain sight?) - it's a common enough word, sure, but in this context, during this period of Viggo's life, is it really a coincidence? It seems to stand out like a neon sign: BLOOM. It's difficult to unsee.

"Anglican doorway" - "Anglican" mostly refers to "Church of England" or the Anglican communion as a whole. But it can also be another way of saying that something is English. And so it can be read as "English doorway", if you wish. Regardless, it certainly leads your thoughts towards England. Furthermore, Orlando was brought up in the Church of England (and born in Canterbury, the place of origin for the church, no less), while Viggo has no known connection to any religion really. It's perhaps not as obvious as bloom, but it's still quite a significant choice of word. Again, in this context, at this time, when we know Viggo spent so much of his time with Orlando.

Here's my interpretation of Viggo's Communion:

we've left shore somehow become the friends of early theory close enough to speak desire and pain of absence of mistakes we'd make given the chance.

The two are described as friends, who have become closer, intimate in words and thoughts. Sharing secrets, fears, feelings. Bordering on something more.

each smile returned makes harder avoiding dreams that see us lying in the early evening curtain shadows, skin safe against skin. bloom of compassion respect for moments eyes lock turns forever into one more veil that falls away

He seems to be having thoughts of them becoming lovers, the veil of "just friends" falling away. But it seems to be still just a dream, a hope. It's such a beautiful image: the two of them, together, intimate, safe. And that "bloom of compassion", maybe V just wanted to get the word in...

this after seeing you last night, first time smelling you with permission: shoulders to wonder openly at as carefully kissed as those arms waited impossibly on. they've held me now and your breath down my back sent away the night air that had me shaking in the unlit anglican doorway.

But seems they've already been intimate, maybe just a first kiss, a lingering touch, holding each other. The "smelling you with permission" implies he's smelled O without permission before. Sneaking a little sniff when in close contact. Inhaling the sweet scent of a beloved friend. If we accept "anglican" as a reference to O, then what is this unlit doorway? Is it just an image of being allowed inside O's private space? And why is it unlit? As in Orlando being from that church, but not believing in its god? Or an opening into this other person which is difficult to find, maybe not fully opened to him.

are we ruined for finding our faces fit and want to know more about morning? is friendship cancelled if we can't call each other anymore in amnesia, invite ourselves to last glances under suspicious clocks telling us when we've had enough?

A worry that sex will ruin their friendship, implying it's not clear what their relationship should be, even after crossing that line. I love that phrase "finding our faces fit", it's both funny and beautiful; finding that when they kiss, they felt a sense of belonging. And that they probably don't want to stop. I'm not sure if he also worries about other people seeing, finding out, being in the public eye. And he worries that they won't be able to talk like they did before, as friends.

your steady hands cradling my grateful skull: were you taking in my face to save an image you've rarely allowed yourself after leaving that cold alcove? am i a photograph you gaze at in moments of weakness?

Again, he seems to feel this relationship only exists in private, in bed. Maybe implying that O regards it as a weakness, these feelings. This part could also be read as if it's him looking back, when the relationship is over, or changed, distanced, wondering if O thinks of him.

you ordered me off my knees into your arms. wasn't to beg that i knelt; only to see you once from below.

The image of V on his knees could both be a sexual thing, but it could also be about worship; that he wants to be on his knees to adore O. But it's also a part of the poem's religious theme; you usually kneel while taking the communion. You kneel to pray.

tried to say something that filled my mouth and longed to rest in your ear. don't dare write it down for fear it'll become words, just words.

The relationship seems fragile, filled with fear of loss. Like he can't say everything he wants to, afraid it'll lead to it ending. There's so much desire and longing, but also so much despair of the relationship being so brittle, that it can fall apart at any time.

Once I read it this way, like with that painting, I can't see anything else. Maybe it's just coincidences, maybe it's just something from inside Viggo's brain (and not connected to reality), maybe it can be read in many other ways. But since my brain is warped, I can only read it like this.

[breaniebree]

Here's a little hint at the first 6 epilogues...

Many of them occur at the same time and time jump lots in each chapter so not everything is in chronological order.

31 - Hinny Epilogue One:

Molly looked slightly put out by this before she turned her gaze on Harry and Ginny.  “And what about you two?  Two years you’ve just celebrated and what have you to show for it?”

Ginny bit her lip before she exchanged a look with Harry.  “Actually, Mum, Harry and I do have some news to share.”

Molly shrieked, jumping up from the table.  “Oh my goodness!  I knew it!  I knew it!  I’m so happy!  Oh, Ginny!”

Ginny was pulled into her mother’s arms before she could say anything otherwise and squeezed tightly.  “Mum!”

“Oh, Ginny, you’re going to be such a good mum!  I just know you two are going to have boy!  I can feel it!”  Molly exclaimed, tightening her grip on her daughter.

Harry cleared his throat.  “Erm, Molly, we —”

“—and you!”  Molly said, throwing her arms around Harry.  “A baby!  This calls for a celebration!”

“MUM!”  Ginny shouted, making Molly turn to look at her.  “I’m not pregnant.”

Molly’s face fell.  “Not pregnant?  What do you mean by telling me that you are!”

“I didn’t,” Ginny said.  “I said that we had some news to share.”

32 - Luna Epilogue...

“I don’t like him,” Harry said again, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  “She was bloody starkers when he met her, Gin!  This bloke is dodgy, I can feel it!  I don’t like him.”

“You do, actually,” Ginny said, her eyes twinkling.  “In fact you like him very much.”  At Harry’s look, she smiled.  “His name is Rolf Scamander.”

“Rolf Sc — bloody hell,” Harry grumbled.

“He’s very nice, Harry,” Luna said.  “We’ve been together most of the last two and half months.  He makes me laugh and he’s kind.  When he kisses me, I feel things that I’ve never felt before and he doesn’t seem to mind that I need a lot of foreplay to make me come.  In fact, he rather enjoys spending time between my legs.  Ginny, one night I came five times.”

Ginny chuckled.  “He’s definitely a keeper.”

“Erm, sure,” Harry said, the back of his neck reddening.  “I’ll leave you two to talk more.”  He stood up and walked over to kiss Luna’s cheek.  “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

Luna gave Harry an amused look.  “You know I can take care of myself, right?”

“Just pass it on,” Harry said, kissing her cheek again.  “No one messes with you or they answer to me.”

“He gives me the best orgasms, I’m going to keep him for a bit.”

“Er, right,” Harry said. 

33 - Theo Epilogue One...

"Theo, will you —”

"YES!"

Sebastian's lips curved.  "You didn't even let me ask you.”

"Right, sorry," Theo said. "Try again.”

"Will you —”

“YES!"  he squealed, biting his bottom lip.  “Sorry.  One more time, l'll be quiet, I swear.”

Sebastian beamed at him.  "Will you marry —“

"YES!"  Theo shouted, falling to his knees in front of Sebastian to kiss him.  "A million times yes!!”

Sebastian kissed him back fervently.  "You know, I had a plan here.  I didn't even get to show you the ring.”

Theo kissed him, speaking in between more kisses.  "Don't care.  More kissing.”

34 - Romione Epilogue One...

Ron waved his mum off.  “Nothing much, Mum, except for one thing — I’m calling for a vote.  I think we can all agree that I’m the Weasley who gave the most romantic proposal ever, right?”

Fred snorted.  “Pretty sure that’s a lie.  No way was ickle Ronnikins the most romantic.”

“Nothing from you,” Ron said.  “You haven’t even proposed to your girlfriend.”

Fred stuck his tongue out at his brother.  “Git.”

“I don’t know,” Ginny said, smiling at her husband.  “Harry set up a romantic picnic before we went for a fly on his broom.  Then he wrote me a cheesy poem while he proposed during the sunset.  That’s definitely up there for mad romance.”

Ron waved her off.  “Yeah, yeah, Harry’s a contender!  But I definitely beat out Percy!”

“I thought the ring in the champagne glass was very classy,” Percy said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It was,” Audrey said, tapping her husband’s cheek.  “He took me out to a romantic dinner and told me how much he loved me.  It was perfect.”

“I don’t know,” George said.  “I think I win, I mean, I got Ange to propose to me.”

Angelina laughed.  “And it worked for us, but I wouldn’t exactly call it romantic, George.”

George gasped.  “How dare you!  You even gave me this gawdy ring!”  he exclaimed, wiggling his hand with the pirate ring on his finger.

Angelina picked up his other hand, the one that held his gold wedding band.  “I love this one more.”

He grinned.  “I’m a kept man and I like it.”

“Wait,” Ginny said, holding up her hands.  “Ron keeps going on about how he had the most romantic proposal, but I don’t think we’ve even heard how he proposed.”

“What’s important, Ginny, is that I win!”  Ron declared.

35 - Hinny Epilogue Two...

Harry kissed the top of her head.  “Gin, if this is what you want, you know that I’m going to support you.  You don’t have to work at all if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Ginny said, tracing her fingertips into the groove of his abs.  “I think maybe I’d like to do something else eventually, but I think that when it gets closer, I’ll think more about it.  I just want to spend more time with our children and enjoy them, you know?”

Harry kissed the top of her head.  “Whatever you want to do.”

Ginny’s fingers trailed a bit lower to squeeze him.  “Then after I retire, maybe we can try for that magical number four?”

“Yeah?”  he asked, a little breathlessly.  “One more baby?”

“One more,” Ginny agreed.  “I think four is the perfect number, don’t you?”

Her thumb brushed under the head of his cock and his breath hitched.  “Yeah, that sounds perfect.  Let’s try for another girl.  Two and two, you know?”

Ginny smiled, slowly kissing her way down his chest.  She dragged her tongue over him, sneaking a look at him under her lashes.  “After I retire.”

“Deal,” he murmured and then her mouth wrapped around him and Harry watched her in awe, falling more in love with her all over again.

36 - Blaise Epilogue...

“I don’t even want to get married,” Blaise insisted.  “I’m working my dream job.  I have more money than I even know what to do with.  I can buy whatever clothes I want, travel wherever I want, and bloody shag whomever I bloody want… why would I want to settle down?  Seems boring.”

Theo sighed.  “One of these days, Blaise Zabini, some witch is going to turn her nose up at you and you won’t know what to do about it.”

Blaise laughed.  “Please.  I’m everyone’s fantasy.”

Sebastian snorted.  “His ego’s still working just fine, I see.”

Blaise grinned.  “And you two love me for it.”

“Well, instead of your ego, can we talk about our plan for Paris?”  Sebastian asked.

Theo pouted.  “It’s not fair that you both get to go to Paris and I have to stay here.”

“You have to work,” Sebastian told him. 

“And we’ll be working,” Blaise cut in.  “You and your team are taking over all of the investigation, am I right?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said.  “D, J, and I will keep track of it all and let you know what we find.  You’re only defending Lavigne, correct?”

“Yeah, but from what I’ve heard, it’s causing a rift in the Ministry.”

“And then some,” Sebastian agreed.  “My team is heading there tomorrow afternoon and as soon as know something, I’ll touch base.”

“Appreciate it,” Blaise told him.  “Now, let’s chat about what kind of outrageous gift we can get Draco before I head off to Paris to shag my way around the city.”

Theo turned to look at his husband.  “Why do we keep inviting him over?”

“Because you love him, baby.”

Theo wrinkled his nose.  “It’s bloody inconvenient that that’s true.”

Blaise laughed and clinked his wine glass with Theo’s.�� “I’ll drink to that.”

_________

Epilogues 37-41 are still only partially finished as I've been procrastinating. LOL

[monetka228]

I was rewatching PnF and wrote some hcs about Heinz/Charlene. Idk why, but I love them sm. Can’t stop thinking about those babies

So, here they are. Enjoy.

Charlene loves all kinds of shiny things, so Heinz often pampered her with gifts of white gold and diamonds, because the company paid him a lot of money + his inventions, which now serve humanity, brought him extra money every month.

Charlene likes indoor plants, but does not like to take care of them. This annoys Heinz, but he still waters her flowers and pots.

Heinz took maternity leave and took care of their daughter while Charlene was at work.

Charlene is allergic to fur, so they got a sphynx. It always slept between Heinz and Charlene like a baby.

When Charlene had painful periods, Heinz stroked her belly and gave her various treats to make her feel better.

Charlene always covered her husband with a blanket when he fell asleep at his desk and scolded him for the gigantic amount of coffee he drank.

Heinz always hugged her whenever he could. He wanted to feel her touch and hold her close to him.

Heinz's love language: touches, words. Charlene's love language: actions, gifts.

Charlene likes to buy him flowers when she gets home late from work. She likes to watch his reactions.

Charlene often sends him intimate photos of herself when on business trips. Heinz then writes a one-meter poem about how flawless and beautiful her body is.

Heinz was her ideal of male beauty.

Charlene liked his German accent, which later disappeared due to life in the United States.

Charlene wakes up first. She strokes his head and kisses him a few times, then gets up and cleans up the mess left in the bed last night. Then she goes to the kitchen and leaves him a breakfast of eggs and fried vegetables and juices that she made herself. Also leaves a note with her lipstick on it and says how much she loves him and goes to work.

After the divorce, Charlene still uses the perfume that Heinz gave her because: "This perfume reminds me of you."

Back in college, Charlene developed a habit of covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her moans. And when Heinz was pleasing her, she covered her mouth again, but Heinz jerked her hand sharply and said: “Don’t do this. I want to hear how good I make you feel.''

Heinz was constantly playfully pinching her, squeezing her, lifting her sweater a little so that her skin could be seen. He liked to touch her and wanted to feel closeness not only emotionally, but also physically, although he preferred relationships where partners are close in spirit.

Heinz is afraid of mice. Charlene was the one who nailed them, muttering, "All men are big babies!", while Heinz was trembling in fear.

The scientist liked to read her something about biology. Charlene herself didn't study it much at school and found it boring, but she listened anyway because she liked hearing his voice.

When Vanessa was little and slept in another room at night, Heinz was afraid to touch his wife, get alone have sex with her. He was afraid that his daughter would hear and run into the room. When he himself was a goldfinch, he heard strange noises from his parents in the room and ran to check. He’d rather not check...

Charlene had black hair for a while. Heinz dyed it himself.

Heinz's favorite pastime was lying on Charlene's chest and listening to her steady heartbeat. Every time she said she could hear and feel his breathing, he felt goosebumps. She also often whispered cute things in his ear that made him melt.

Charlene loved it when Heinz hugged her from behind and kissed her neck and shoulders.

Charlene kept frowning as Heinz leaned in to kiss her after smoking a cigarette. He would then go brush his teeth and chew some iced peppermint gum to kill the stench and kiss her.

Charlene can play double bass and piano, and Heinz knows a few chords on guitar and violin. She often played the piano, and he sat and admired the smooth movements of her fingers, which so skillfully ran over the keys, creating a pleasant melody and a beautiful picture of pacification on her face. She also taught him to play several pieces: "Dog's Waltz" and "Rosehip". They even played an ensemble.

[asterrrrion]

Alright so part two of my explaining BSD french authors:

Arthur Rimbaud !

This is the boy. Looks young, right ? That's cause he's seventeen in this. (Funnily enough, he's exactly the same age as Verlaine's wife. Verlaine, though, is 27 at the time they meet. Yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said he was a piece of shit.)

Rimbaud is kind of THE poet of teenage rebellion. He was born in 1854, under Napoleon III to place him back in his historical context. He wrote quite a bit in opposition to Napoleon, actually.

His father is absent at first, and then not here at all later. He has... A complex and complicated relationship with his mother. He gave her a disrespectful nickname, she was seen hitting him several times (although at the time that's hardly surprising...), but at the same time when he asked her to go see him in London (at a time where the trip was very expensive, and she'd never left France in her life before that) she came, and his sister described him then as "the happiest I'd ever seen him". She's often seen as the source of his inner anger and rebellion.

What he hates for sure, though, was living in his house, with his family, and especially in his hometown, Charleville, which he despises.

He's especially known for having fled his house a lot, as in several times a year, for several days every time, walking during the day and sleeping on the road during the night. His most famous poem, "Ma bohème" (unstranslatable title because "bohème" is a french concept, but it basically means living your life day after day, in communion with nature and/or your dreams, often with an artistic dimension and no money whatsoever - also has travel connotations because it derives from "bohemian"), actually talks solely about that.

He wrote from his fifteenth to his nineteenth birthday, and was - still is - seen as a genius, being one of the most influential french poets ever despite having written for only four years. He was famous for being uncontrollable, and it translates back to his style : he took extremely traditional forms and changed their rules. (Which weirdly enough actually kinda fits with Rimbaud's ability ??)

If we ever have a Baudelaire in BSD, know that his character will probably look up to him, seeing as Rimbaud is usually seen as continuing Baudelaire's legacy of completely revolutionising french poetry. His two most famous books are "A Season in Hell" and "Illuminations", his last one. His literary movement is symbolism, invented by Baudelaire, characterized by melancholy and an attraction to the ethereal and mysterious. Rimbaud himself thinks that "the poet must search and describe the unknown" and, well, too bad if he sacrifices his sanity. He's also one of the first after Baudelaire to write prose poems.

He stopped writing, forever, at twenty, after the Verlaine fiasco. Actually, he wrote "Illuminations" directly after, then gave it to Verlaine so that he could get it published instead of doing it himself.

That's where his life gets really weird. He tries to learn seven different skills and languages while traveling everywhere, fails, his sister dies and he shaves his head for her funeral, is forced into the military to fight in Java, then deserts, gets hired on a boat on his way back and becomes a sailor, then tries to get hired in the American Navy, doesn't get any answer, goes in a circus then a factory, and all of that while traveling everywhere in the world in the space of about three years.

Nobody knows where he was for the nine months after that - and during all of this, everyone who knows him is hoping that he gets back to writing poetry - and then he goes home to help his brother with his farm before leaving, AGAIN. He walks from France to Italy, then gets in a boat to Alexandria, where he works in a construction project to manage the workers. This keeps going for about eleven more years, so I can't list everything this guy did : we'd need a whole ass novel.

He stays in Northern Africa for almost the rest of his life, although he travels quite a lot in that region and never stops moving. In France, he's still as famous as he was at 17, and several eulogies are written for him without his knowledge. We can also note that he does weapon trafficking, for a very short period, at some point. He writes to his family that he's "bored", of all things. He's described by the people he meets then as "smart, sarcastic, not very talkative, never talking about his past".

He then dies in Marseille, in his thirties, from cancer in his leg.

I'm gonna be honest : I don't like his BSD characterization. Rimbaud's a wild card, a chaotic teenager, as an author. I also ! Hate ! That he's Verlaine's mentor. But that'll be the next part, where I'll talk of IRL Rimbaud and Verlaine.

Previous and future parts are in the #IrlBSDFr tag.

[the0nlyallison]

Vent pt 2 because there's more I forgot about

I'm also not allowed to have my phone in my room at night so when I'm really sad I don't have anything to distract me.

I'm always thinking of the last time I saw my grandpa.. we went to my grandparents house to clean (my grandma's camera was making her see things that weren't there and she couldn't do any cleaning because of how bad she was). We were rushing to get out of their house to go home so I didn't get to hug my grandpa, I just waved... I can see so clearly his smile as he wanted at me.

I also remember things of my grandma's death. One day I was sitting in the living room at our old house and she wasn't waking up. My mom being a nurse, I asked her a lot of what was happening. Then it hit me that maybe my grandma's gasps were her trying to talk so I cried and my mom was trying to comfort me... I saw my dog stand on his hind legs to look at her, his first time acknowledging her. So I knew.... The next day I was at color guard practice. Mid practice I knew something was wrong. This terrible feeling came over me. It was so bad I was going to vomit. I was going to leave but I stayed. The time that happened was at 2:45, the same time she died.

I also think of how I got bullied. Freshman year me and this girl were best friends and we'd do best friend things lol we'd link arms, kids each other's cheek, etc and people then started calling us gay. I didn't really care about that because we both knew it wasn't true... Then it got worse. They started saying I was finding her in the bathroom. By the beginning of sophomore year it died down. At the end of sophomore year I had got with this dude and he wanted to meet me in the locker room so I told my color guard team I was going to the bathroom. He wanted to give each other head so we argued the entire time because I wasn't ready. My name got called on the announcements. I went to the group, told them I just had really bad period cramps, and continued. I found out the next day someone in the group started going around saying I was fingering myself and I had a breakdown in front of my history teacher and my classmates saw it. I didn't care. I could just remember me telling and screening and crying telling my teacher how much I wanted to kill myself when it was happening during freshman year and how I couldn't take it anymore after my grandma and grandpa.

I think about my biological mother too. About or last interaction. We barely talked. We talked twice. She asked me what I was listening to (Bon Jovi of course) and at the very end she said I was getting tall. There's things I won't ever forget about her. The last interaction I had and another, where it was my birthday party at my mamaws (her mom) house and she asked me when my birthday was. Being her first child, being my birthday party, I was pissed and everyone knew it. Drugs lol

And my biological dad. Why didn't he change after she died? I wanted him to get better. I wrote a poem for him. He was supposed to get better. I'll remember two encounters with him. A few years ago my baby nephew was really sick so my and my mom went to take care of the rest of my brother's kids. My other brother and my biological father went there and I ignored him the entire time. Before he left he came over, gave me a hug and a candy bar and said "happy birthday." Keep in mind this was in December and my birthday is in October. The second encounter was much recent, a couple months ago. We were in the drive through of Tim Hortons and I people watch lol so I was looking out the car window and saw a homeless man walking wearing pajama pants, so my brain automatically named him Pajama Pants. Another guy was walking farther down behind him. I heard my mom go "oh God there's [name] Allison don't look." I waited til both guys were gone and asked which one he was... He was Pajama Pants.

Every night I wanna cry about it but I can't. I'm too scared to. If my parents see me crying then I'm forced to tell them what's happening. I can't just tell them to leave me alone and that I need space.

I just miss how everything was before. I miss my friends. I miss my grandma and grandpa. I miss everything.

[madeofmosaic]

'the desire to you' a.k.a. i wrote a poem about my ex, cuz she gave me too much trauma

I get over stuff too quickly.

or maybe I never get over anything.

it might take only a night, maybe a few days, perhaps it’ll haunt me on a specific day for a few months.

maybe I only get over it while I’m dreaming.

possibly it’ll come to my mind a few years later, but I’d be over it by then.

would it ever be the same with you?

only a distant memory in my head.

or maybe a way too close one.

but why is the only thing I can’t put behind me is you?

maybe the past you still walks alongside me.

I might have forgotten the way you talk, the sound of your voice.

I wonder if I could still recognize it out of other 100 voices.

the feeling of your lips on mine is long forgotten.

long forgotten and hated, but sometimes I wish I could remember your taste.

I wouldn’t be able to read your body language any more,

nor notice the patterns in your speech.

maybe I was never able to.

I don’t think I’d be able to recognize your room or the way you dress.

perhaps I’m the only one who can’t move on.

I wonder if I looked into your closet, would I find my hoodie at the back of it.

or did you throw it out?

it took me courage, but I threw out yours after maybe a year of you giving it to me.

it was always at the back of the closet and at the back of my mind, along with you.

even though I forgot a lot, there’s quite a few I can remember.

they’re too golden to me to forget.

I’ll never forget the way you acted, sometimes so sweet yet sometimes so distant.

makes me think you never loved me.

maybe all the times you bought me things, said kind words and send cute videos were all part of a façade.

I want to know why would you do this to someone.

perhaps I was too naïve,

to be with you twice.

perhaps we were both young and stupid and so desperate to love someone.

although you loved so much people, you ran out of love to give to me.

maybe I just gave more love than you needed,

and you gave love a lot less than I needed.

ware the kisses you gave me when we weren’t even together a joke to you?

did you use me for your own satisfaction?

do you too wish that I’ve never sat next to you at lunch on that day?

you were the first and possibly the last person I’ve ever loved.

I can’t decide that if I could ever change the outcome of all this,

would my desire to feel your love again,

over power my hatred towards you?

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Playing the Best Version of Myself

I’m not intending to permanently turn this blog series into a “Sophie listens to podcasts and talks about the Starcruiser” thing, but… this week I found myself once again listening to a podcast episode about Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. It was The No Proscenium Podcast this time, and the episode was titled “Last Call at the Sublight Lounge.” One of the panelists, Kathryn, said the following about Halcyon passengers:

“I believe that a lot of the people on the ship were roleplaying that idealized version of themselves… Maybe you’re braver, bolder, more confident, more willing to stand up for what you believe in. Maybe it’s a version of yourself that you want to wish into being, but you’ve never had a chance to articulate it before.”

Funnily enough, this wasn’t the first time I’ve heard someone express this idea about the Starcruiser. On the final night of the show, I met up with a bunch of the performers after closing time. Emotions were running high, understandably, but a lot of those emotions were positive. There was so much love and gratitude in that space – for each other, and for what we had created and accomplished. Everyone kept talking about how much we’d grown because of the Starcruiser. Late in the evening, one of the performers attributed that growth to how we’d created a space where everyone who participated, everyone who came to play, could come be “the best version of yourself” – and playing as the best version of yourself changes you forever.

It gave me pause, when that performer said it, and I’m thinking about it further after hearing Kathryn bring it up again – because when I entered the Starcruiser as a guest, I didn’t think I was playing the best or idealized version of myself. I fully intended to not be myself. Sophie Katz knew too much about the Halcyon and its characters. I spent six months running around that ship, making sure that everyone else knew everything they needed to know about where to be, why they were there, and what to do while they were there. The beats of the whole two-day show are imprinted on my brain. So I thought that in order to have fun, and to avoid ruining anyone else’s fun with metagaming, I had to separate my guest-self from my writer-self.

Shira Alderaani Khesed was a character I made up almost two years ago. I wrote a poem about the destruction of Alderaan in Star Wars, and afterwards I fleshed out the character behind that first-person perspective. She was a woman without a homeworld, the daughter of Alderaanians who just happened to be off planet on their honeymoon when the Empire destroyed their lives. And as far as I could tell before my voyage, playing Shira would be about as far from acting as my real self as I could get without outright sacrificing my morals. Shira was a mechanic; she’d never had the good fortune to be able to pursue art as a career. She was cynical and cowardly, weighed down by the trauma she’d inherited and unable to imagine a better future – in direct contrast to my real-world optimism. She didn’t have a family or community to support her; her late parents kept her intentionally ignorant of her culture, believing that would protect her from her people’s genocide – unlike my real-life parents, wonderful and alive, who raised me to take pride in my culture. I wouldn’t have called Shira my ideal self; I certainly wouldn’t wish to be her or live her life!

I thought I’d successfully separated my real self from my Starcruiser-self.

But the performers on my voyage were quick to prove me wrong.

I mentioned last week that some of the performers dropped hints that they knew me. Gaya said I looked familiar. Raithe said he knew I understood what was going on better than anyone. Lenka outright added a bit to my backstory, saying she remembered how I helped repair the ship before this voyage.

There’s another example of this that I should mention now.

Captain Keevan’s path did not cross much with mine, but at one point late on the first day, I was standing with a friend in the lower concourse when the captain came out of the dining room. She approached us and asked how we were doing, mentioning she’d heard that I’d had some issues with Sammie the mechanic. I responded in character, explaining that Sammie had asked me to do something that I wasn’t comfortable with (lying to First Order Stormtroopers, which from Shira’s cautious-and-cynical point of view was a good way to get killed).

The captain told me that I shouldn’t have to do anything that made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Half joking, I looked at my friend and said, “Does that mean telling my friends to not sing anti-First Order fight songs?” (Which, yes, is another thing that happened. Video evidence here. Sophie loved that scene; Shira did not.)

“Well,” said Captain Keevan, “something like that could be a useful distraction, at times. I find that some people work well on the front lines, and their actions make it possible for others to do the important work they need to do in the background.”

“I do well in the background,” I said.

And she smiled and replied, “And I know you’re good at keeping things on schedule.”

As she walked away, I realized something about Shira. I’d thought that by making her a mechanic, I was making her unlike me. I’m not a hands-on hard-science building-things sort of person. I’d even been a bit nervous that someone might ask me something technical that I wouldn’t be able to answer.

But as Lenka had pointed out, as a mechanic, Shira was someone who had helped prepare the ship for this voyage. And as Captain Keevan had pointed out, Shira was someone who worked well in the background, supporting the people who were visible on the front lines.

In other words, Shira was the me I aspire to be, as a professional creative writer – not the person in the spotlight, but the person who makes it possible for other people to do well in the spotlight. The person who builds the world, who takes care of the details in the background, and who, if I’m doing my job right, goes unnoticed. You don’t notice a mechanic unless something breaks; when things go smoothly, you praise the captain. Similarly, you don’t notice a writer unless the dialogue is bad; when shows make you laugh and cry, you praise the actors and directors. That’s how it is. That’s the space I work well in and take pride in. Sure, I want people to know what I can do, and I want to get credit when I do a good job – so that I can continue to do this work that I love and make a living with it. I don’t dream about being a big flashy hero with crowds chanting my name. I want to be quietly essential.

I realized that Shira had an opportunity here – to learn to be that quiet, essential background player.

And as the show progressed, moments kept coming up that developed her story in that direction. When Lt. Croy ordered that a restraining bolt be put on beloved droid SK-620, Shira whispered to Sammie that he needed to go through it, despite the boos of the crowd, to keep the ship safe. The next day, Shira helped lure Lt. Croy and the stormtroopers downstairs to give Lenka and Saja Fen a chance to rescue SK. During the heist, Shira didn’t get one of the many “noisy distraction” jobs; instead, Raithe secretly passed Shira the gem, and she stood far away from the action, quietly keeping it safe while Captain Keevan ordered Raithe to turn out his pockets. Moment by moment, act by act, decision by decision, Shira was learning how much of an impact she could have on the galaxy from the background, even if – perhaps even because – most people didn’t know she was there doing the work that needed to be done.

Everything culminated in a scene that caught me off guard just as much in reality as in character. Shira wound up in the middle of the atrium, with a whole crowd of people’s eyes on her, telling Lt. Croy a series of objectively terrible lies.

It would be impossible for me to exaggerate how uncomfortable I am with improv. I’m fine with public speaking – I’m honestly pretty good at it – but I always prepare a lot in advance. If you’ve ever heard me say something cool, it’s because I spent at least ten minutes beforehand planning it out. I did not plan for this moment. And so, in that moment, even though I objectively knew that no real-world harm would come to me, my fear and Shira’s were one and the same. All I wanted to do was run away.

But I didn’t run away. I kept talking – babbling, really – because I had to keep Croy’s attention on me, so he wouldn’t turn around and see Raithe sneaking up to the mezzanine to steal the coaxium. Because that’s what Shira would have done, after everything she’d been through on that ship. She would play her part. She would make it possible for other people to do the more obviously important and visible job. And, as soon as the job was done and it was safe to do so, she would run away… straight towards Raithe, who promptly handed her the suitcase of coaxium. He knew he could trust her with it.

And me? I want to be trusted. I want to be someone that people can rely on. I may not literally want to be Shira Alderaani Khesed, but I want to have the kind of impact she had on the story unfolding around her, just by being me, hard at work in the background. Building worlds, preparing experiences, and keeping everyone around me on schedule. Relied on and appreciated by the people who matter most. Quietly essential to a life-changing experience, and given the chance to be so again, and again, and again. That’s the best version of me.

You wanna know the best part? Those two days I spent as Shira was not the only chance I had to be that best version of me. I now understand that the role that Shira played on the Halcyon was the role I played with Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. I see it now more clearly than ever before. We don’t often get the chance to see ourselves so clearly, and I am so grateful to this cast for helping me see. They gave me such a gift. They gave everyone who set foot on that ship the gift of getting to be – and to learn that we are – our best selves.

I know what I can do for others – for a creative team, for an audience, for the world. I want nothing more than to do it again, and again, and again.

Let’s do it again, together.

[starlitwishforu]

青玉案 · 元夕 - 辛弃疾 english translation (and notes!)

ok well. all this chinese poetry posting has put me on a bit of a translation high so i wanted to share my most recent translation project, which i actually just finished recording and uploading yesterday after two whole months of waffling. the poem itself is SO fucking cute but SO hard to translate and i'm honestly very proud that i stuck with it to the end. it instantly became one of my top favourites the very first time i heard it so i hope other people can also find some joy from it!

here is the original:

青玉案 · 元夕

【宋】 辛弃疾

东风夜放花千树，更吹落、星如雨。宝马雕车香满路。凤箫声动，玉壶光转，一夜鱼龙舞。

蛾儿雪柳黄金缕，笑语盈盈暗香去。众里寻他千百度，蓦然回首，那人却在 灯火阑珊处。

and here is my translation:

Qing Yu An: Lantern Festival at Dusk

by Xin Qiji

Fireworks blossom beneath the touch of evening's eastern breeze; flurrying as they fall, sparks shower like stars. Prancing steeds pull chiseled carriages, sweeping fragrance across the path. The xiao’s decadent notes adrift, the jadelike light’s prismatic shift; the dragon-fish dance as the night-hours pass.

Combs shining in their hair, golden, silver, silken sway; sweet perfume and tinkling mirth linger in their wake. My searching gaze is futile as I scan the thronging crowds; at last I turn, and you are there, in the quiet dark of evening wane.

translation notes beneath the cut! there is a LOT, be warned!

translation notes:

so to start from the very top, let's first introduce the title 青玉案 · 元夕.

青玉案 (pinyin: Qing Yu An, lit. the matter of the verdant jade) is actually the name of a 宋词排名 (song cipaiming, song dynasty poetic/musical form). just as shakespeare wrote sonnets and basho wrote haiku, so the poets of the song dynasty wrote, among hundreds of other forms with fun names like this, Qing Yu An poems.

each 词排名 had a set number of characters per line, set rules for its tone patterns, and even came with its own tune. maybe a better western parallel would be twinkle twinkle little star, which uses the same tune as the alphabet song and baa baa black sheep.

the end result is that there are many titles under the heading of Qing Yu An, and even, according to chatgpt, another 青玉案 · 元夕.

anyway, this one by Xin Qiji, the most famous one, is titled 元夕 (yuanxi); 元 refers to 元宵节 (yuanxiaojie), the lantern festival held on the fifteenth day of the lunar new year which marks the end of the spring festival/chinese new year, and 夕 is dusk. hence a very naturally poetic name, lantern festival at dusk.

before i get into the text of the poem, i want to note that i often sacrifice rhythm/rhyme for precision of meaning. i ✨artistically✨ speed up/slow down some syllables while recording to preserve some sense of metre lol, but it does read quite awkwardly on paper. i'm a very inexpert student and have a lot to improve on!

ok so! line by line!

东风夜放花千树

--is a literally genius pun. it transliterates as: the east wind in the evening blows open the flowers of a thousand trees. very spring, right? haha spring festival get it.

however! its a chinese celebration, so what will there definitely be? fireworks 😎 and it just so happens that one word for "setting off fireworks" in chinese is 放烟花 (fang yanhua). yep, that's the same 花, which means flowers, but when combined with 烟 (smoke), it becomes a "fire-flower" 🎆!!

it's also the same 放, which in the context of actual flowers means the opening of petals, but in the phrase 放烟花 means to set off (the fireworks).

together, this line evokes both the blooming of the spring flowers under the eastern breeze* and the blooming of a thousand fireworks in the evening sky.

*spring comes from the east ofc; this is folklore and not science i think but lends to the spring-ness of the line

更吹落，星如雨

this one is pretty straightforward. lit. blown through the air by aforementioned wind, falling like a rain shower of stars.

宝马雕车香满路

oh boy. when i tell you my mom (who is my chinese teacher) and i got in several petty arguments over baomadiaoche...

so 宝马 (baoma) are just well-bred horses, prize steeds with a pedigree. a 雕车 (diaoche) (lit. carved chariot) is a very expensive carriage carved with lots of intricate decorations. in other words, these ppl are RICH.

however, it was difficult to convey the sheer decadence of 宝马雕车 without either using a miles worth of syllables or entirely losing the original cultural context. carved was too direct and ugly to hear besides, etched was not elite enough, sculpted conveyed entirely the wrong image... also, for some reason, "proud" to describe steeds was vetoed for being inaccurate???? hence the arguments.

in this scenario, the final word choice really is a matter of the least bad option.

at the same time, the second half of this line 香满路 (lit. fragrance fills the path) implies movement: the carriage is passing by, leaving the fragrance of rich people perfume in its wake. for the sake of syllables, i shifted that movement to the fragrance part of this line. i also like that this evokes a high-headed noble sweeping elegantly through the crowds.

overall, this line adds to the picture of a decadent, bustling market street during the most joyous celebration of the year.

凤箫声动，玉壶光转，一夜鱼龙舞

lit. the notes of the phoenix xiao (chinese recorder) move, jade gourd light shimmers, the fish dragons dance all night.

chinese ppl, ok, use two motifs to describe the beauty and virtue of every artistic thing ever: phoenix and jade. phoenix xiao means NOTHING. it's like virtuous xiao. jade gourd is a little harder; some say it's the moon, some say it's the lanterns. jade and light put together kinda implies moon anyway, so i just sidestepped the problem entirely.

as for 鱼龙 (lit. fish dragons), theyre a type of dragon lantern which supposedly has some characteristic of a fish. they are puppet-danced on sticks - dragon dancing, the classic. my mom and i both had a vivid image of this dragon-lantern-dancing, but we couldn't find it ANYWHERE. if anyone knows the right search query to pull this up, please lmk how to tame 谷大哥*. anyway, i left the lanterns implied because idk how the fuck to explain this whole thing in four syllables.

*lit. big bro google. its funnier in chinese

蛾儿雪柳黄金缕

this is the line that, when i finally bothered to properly research it, made everything about this translation click into place. these are all hair decorations. 蛾儿 (lit. li'l moth) are silk moths, 雪柳 (lit. snow willow) are silver tassels, and 黄金缕 (lit. yellow-golden cords) are gold cords lmao. hence golden silver silken sway, which was SO satisfying to come up with.

笑语盈盈暗香去

lit. laughing speech tinkles and faint fragrance goes by. this one is also fairly straightforward. 去 means to go, so we specifically want the image of a group of giggly teenage girls fading into the crowd.

众里寻他千百度。蓦然回首，那人却在 灯火阑珊处。

and finally we reach the most famous line, the 千古名句 (qiangumingju) - iconic line of a thousand histories!

lit. within the crowd, searching for him* in a thousand hundred directions; suddenly the head turns, it turns out that person is standing in the darkness where the lights have gone out.

*"him" is highly debated. 他, used in modern chinese like the pronoun "he", was historically a catchall pronoun for people of any gender. iirc, 她 for "she", and the gendered distinction, was only introduced when china started integrating to the west. in this line, 他 could be the teen girl that just passed by, or her beau. whichever way, one is the searcher, the other is the searched. i chose here to sidestep this by using i and you bc fuck gender.

anyway, when the searcher's head turns - even this bit had to be suitably poetic, a nightmare - they find their lover in the 灯火阑珊处.

灯火阑珊处 this phrase refers to a very specific image. imagine, in the early hours of the morning, a dwindling market street; the stands are closing one by one, lights winking out, leaving a gentle blanket of dark and calm behind. it is the quiet after the rain, the breath after the shout; it is the sigh of closing your front door at the end of the night. it's not the absence or complete lack of light, but rather the exit of it. a place of that just-left-behind dark is a 灯火阑珊处.

this sentence gave me so much grief and i am so proud to have done it even just a little bit of justice.

so after all that, the scene described by this poem is something like this: a lively late-night market street. people from many walks of life fill the path, celebrating the lantern festival, the turn of a new year and coming of spring, a riotous party of light and noise and joy. as the night slips into the sixteenth, the market begins winding down, stalls closing and lights winking out. amongst the teeming crowds ambling their way home, a young person searches for the their lover from whom they were separated; on some sudden instinct, they turn, to find their lover already looking back from the darkness of the fading festival, gaze caught in the divide between light and dark, wake and sleep: a quiet young love on the edge of spring, something fresh and new.

if anyone made it to this point, thank you and i hope this was an interesting read! please feel free to add comments questions and observations!! i would love to discuss at any level with someone other than my mom and chinese poetry truly is one of my passions even when it makes me want to kill, so i'm always down to talk. :] <3

[skiesinblue]

Dropping thoughts

It’s been way too long since I last wrote down my thoughts. Not just thoughts, actually—everything that's been happening in my life. 2024 is almost at its end, and let me tell you, what a ride this year has been. Life-changing, chaotic, and honestly, a little overwhelming.

Let’s rewind to the start of the year. The first two months were pretty uneventful because, surprise, surprise, my phone was taken away during my 12th boards. Typical Indian parent behavior, right? The classic “no distractions = better focus” logic. Did it work? Haha, let’s just say old habits die hard. But somehow, I survived. By March, I was living my best “post-board exams” life—jumping around, learning new things, and soaking in the freedom of finally being 18. The icing on the cake? A family trip to Kerala! The backwaters, the food, the laughter—I still feel the warmth of those memories. Its the memories I’ll cherish forever.

Then came May, aka the results month. The dreaded 12th board results came out earlier than expected, and let’s just say they weren’t exactly brag-worthy. I’m not spilling numbers here, but yeah, it was a blow. What followed was a solid 15 days of sulking and frantically hunting for colleges that would take me. Rejections came in like uninvited guests, starting with NMIMS, which outright told me I wasn’t shortlisted. Brutal, right? Cue the mini existential crisis where I kept thinking, “What if I had just studied a little harder?”

But then, something shifted. I realized I hadn’t really done much in life to make my mom proud. This time, I wanted to turn things around—not for anyone else, but for myself. I started manifesting hard, like really hard. And guess what? On June 15th, the same NMIMS that rejected me came knocking again, offering me a spot through counseling. I tried not to get too excited—it was just counseling, after all—but deep down, I was hopeful. Fast forward to a lot of effort, prayers, and paperwork, and I got in! The same college that had rejected me was now welcoming me as a student. Talk about a plot twist, right?

By this point, I had the next six months of my life all mapped out. I was super excited to start college, but the moment I set foot there, reality hit me like a truck. Suddenly, I was surrounded by so many people, and I felt like I was fighting this battle of making friends all on my own. See, I’m a social introvert—it takes me time to open up, but once I do, I’m all in. Luckily, hostel life forced me out of my shell. My first roommate became my friend of the same course, and through her, I found my little circle of amazing people; but oh well, i must admit that a few are still annoying!

Hostel life has its charm, though. Late-night Maggi runs, binge-watching movies, talking shit about people, getting hookup gossips, and those deep, soul-baring conversations where we see each other at our absolute worst—it’s raw, messy, and oddly comforting. We’re all just trying to figure life out, you know?

But it hasn’t been all sunshine and roses. Adjusting to this new environment has been tough. I miss my mom. I miss the old me—the girl who would fill pages of her diary with poems, stories, and random creative bursts. I miss the way I used to live so freely, without overthinking. College is fun, sure, but there’s this constant, underlying loneliness. Back home, I had my friends—my constants. Here, I’m still figuring things out, and it’s exhausting. Sometimes, I just want to hit the pause button and go home to recharge.

Oh, and classes? They’re a rollercoaster. Some faculty members are amazing; others… not so much. Let’s just say I’ve had my moments where I’ve wanted to smash a chalkboard over their heads. And don’t even get me started on the students who come to class just to be a nuisance. Like, if you’re not here to study, at least don’t make it harder for the rest of us.

But amidst all this chaos, I’ve found some genuinely good people. Without them, I’d probably be stuck with a bunch of immature kids pretending to be “cool.” So, yeah, college life is an experience, but sometimes, I can’t help but feel like I’ve lost that spark I used to have. I look back at the girl I was and wonder where she went—the girl who was so unapologetically herself, who loved hanging out with friends, and who lived every moment to the fullest.

It’s not easy starting over in a new environment, far from family and familiarity. But here’s the thing—I’m determined to find my way back to that girl. I’ve decided that 2025 is going to be my year. I’m going to take bigger, bolder steps. I want to rediscover myself, let go of the hesitation, and embrace life with open arms.

So, here’s to writing more, feeling more, and living more. It feels good to let all this out. Till next time.

Toddles!

[shhh-secret-time]

Seasons Change to Something Cold

"Run away, run away and let go; you're carrying too much. You'll break under all the weight."

Prologue

It started when he was ten. Or maybe before that, and he just can't really seem to remember, but does anyone when they open their eyes for the first time? Waking up to a world that greets you with dim colors, colors that seem to fade in and out like the seasons. But if you're anything like he is, then colors don't pop like they should. Everything is dull like a filter over his eyes he can't peel off. Maybe that was a common way to describe it, but there had to be a reason why so many people said the same thing.

Dull. That word popped up so much that it was starting to lose its weight. Even he had to admit he used it too many times in his songs or the little poems he secretly wrote in the back of his warped composition notebook. But how else was he supposed to describe it? Why fix something that's not broken, right?

It started when he was sixteen. Cheap whiskey and crumbled cigarettes coursing through his body; hazy nights lost in the bottom of some backwashed alcohol. Waking up in the back of his truck with a few missed calls from his mother or sister, never his father, wondering where he was and if he was safe. That's when the texts asking him if he was alright turned into ones telling him to get his shit together.

Or maybe it started with the farm. Screaming matches between his father getting louder and louder he swore someone in town was bound to hear them. Where the bags under his eyes got heavier and his mind got louder, so loud that even his music couldn't drown out the thoughts. Some nights it was lying on the floor of the bathroom trying not to vomit the cheap gas station food as it battled the alcohol in his stomach. Some nights it was him curled up in bed trying to find a reason to get up and do anything besides doom scrolling on his phone.

What he would have given to just go outside with his friends and get the rush of doing something. Anything. Instead of watching some stranger on his phone, do it. Like he was trying to squeeze that feeling out of the little box in his hands. Instead of sunlight, he'd settle for the screen's light in a dark room. His only saving grace was his guitar and his poetry. It felt like the only thing that got him through it some days. That’s when the fog would lift, and the seasons would change into something warmer. Where he'd pick his pen and create, his addiction turning into creation. The guitar strings digging into his fingertips would ground him and bring the color back for a little bit.

It started last month. He finally pulled himself out of bed. Talked to someone outside of class or one of the million parties he showed up to. It was Michael, someone he hadn't put merit in since middle school, the two sitting behind the school wasting time and probably years off his lifespan with a cigarette. Michael was the only one he really showed any of his poetry too, the two sitting in silence as he flipped through the book. Smoke billowing from his lips catching the light of the early sun and disappearing up into the clouds.

"It's good. Maybe a little rough around certain parts, but I get what you're trying to say." Michael pulled the cigarette from his lips and in between his fingers, giving it a new home. He was getting at praising the things around him, something that he grew into when he hit his senior year.

He didn't say anything as he rolled the cigarette between his lips, focusing on the burn in the back of his throat. He didn't need it to be good. He just needed it...to be heard. Maybe he didn't believe Michael really understood what he was trying to say, but it felt good to hear.

"I think you need to talk to someone though." He turned towards the taller man as he stood up using his cane. The silver tip tapping the ground wordlessly asking him to take a step back and give him space.

"I didn't realize you cared." His joke falls flat.

Michael doesn't laugh. Doesn't give him that pity laugh or nervous chuckle others do when he tries to deflect. Not that the goth was known for his laughter to begin with. He liked that about him. He was real.

What he didn't like was the way the curly haired man stared him down and silently took another puff of his cigarette. It made his skin crawl as the silence crept back over the two, but it wasn't the one he liked. The kind of silence where two friends could just bask in each other's presence, the warmth of their bodies reminding each other that they were there. He hadn't had that kind of silence with anyone in a long time, but he felt something like that when Michael was reading his work.

"Stan. I'm not the type to give you a lecture, preach to you about how it gets better." Michael breaks the tension when he's decided Stan's had enough, "I don't make pretty speeches, so I'll just come out and say it. Get help, talk to someone about what's going on in your head."

Stan's jaw shifts as he blows smoke from his nose, his eyes immediately shooting towards the ground. "I didn't say I needed your advice. I just wanted you to read what I wrote." He grumbles.

"I don't care what you want. I do care about you though, as much as I can." Michael responds with a bored expression like the venom in Stan's tone didn't even touch him.

"What's that supposed to mean? Am I that hard to care about?"

"Sometimes, but it's not because I don't like you honestly. You're one of the few that don't drain me." Michael pauses in between snuffing the light out of his cigarette on the brick wall behind him, being careful not to put it out on some of the artwork. "It's because it's like you don't want people to care."

Stan scoffs and rolls his eyes; he's not taking pulls from his cigarette anymore so he can feel the wind brushing against his lips. The cold nipping against his skin reminding him that it's here. The seasons are changing again.

"At least that's what I got from your writing, now if I'm looking too much into it than that's that." Michael taps his cane against the dirty stone, brushing away some crumpled-up newspaper as he limps over towards him. "You could always tell me I'm wrong."

God does Stan want to, to tell him to shut up and to stop talking. The embarrassing memory of him losing his cool in middle school flooding back into his mind, he squeezes his eyes shut to try and blink the thought away. The thoughts clawing at his lips trying to push themselves out.

".... When I graduate, I'm leaving South Park. I'm getting out of this hellhole and finding another one to call my own." Stan looks up from his feet at him as he speaks, "I might not find anything but it's better than wishing I did. Find something Stan, do something instead of wishing you could." Michael goes to walk past him like he didn't just pierce through any wall Stan tried to put up, maybe his poetry got too much across.

Find something.

Fuck that. He didn't have the energy or the time to deal with that.

"Here." Michael presses a worn-out looking card in his palm. Stan looks down at the creases where it was folded and unfolded over and over again.

Some therapist's business card looked like a woman's name if Stan had to guess, the address and phone number written in small text. His brows furrow together, and suddenly everything feels too heavy again. He feels too tired to walk back to class or even try and eat lunch with his friends.

"Do it or don't, I can't control you, but I don't waste my energy on people I don't care about. I can just hope you'll be here when I come back one day."

And that was the last thing Michael ever said to him, the last time he smelled the clover cigarettes in the air. The last time he ever showed his writing to someone. Rumors floating around school that he just packed a bag and left in his hand me down car he got from his mother. He didn't even wait for the school year to be over he left exactly how Stan thought he would.

Now it starts here. With him staring out the window, wondering what exactly it was that Michael was going to find out there. Stan presses his lips into the palm of his hand, hiding behind the fingerless gloves. The card tucked away in his worn-out brown jacket with his other hand, palming the card repeatedly bending it over and over.

Prologue | 1 | 2

[kingpippthe2nd]

This is going to be a Neil Gaiman appreciation post. Not because I think, the internet needs another person babbling on about how good an author Neil is. There is enough of those. This one is purely egotistical, because I have too many words rattling in my head, and they want out. So, settle in and let me tell you a story. I promise, it will make sense in the end. Or go read something interesting. I’m not your parent. 

I used to read a lot as a kid. The library in my town was open on two afternoons each week: Tuesday and Thursday. So, every Tuesday I would go there with my stack of read books, swap them for a smaller stack of books, which I would devour in the next two days, return them on Thursday, leave with a bigger stack and so on and so on. I couldn’t read enough. I loved disappearing into all the different worlds, all the different adventures. I was the kind of kid, that would read until the middle of the night, illuminated by a flashlight, be exhausted all day in school, just to go home and do it all again.  

I don’t know when this changed, exactly. Only that it did. Something about growing up took away the wonder of printed words. Or wonder in general.  

I remember telling my therapist a year or so ago how I remember being able to see so much beauty in the world. How the tiniest thing could spark so much joy in me. Make me imagine entire worlds. And how I couldn’t find this kind of joy anymore. How I felt that something in me was irrevocably broken. She reassured me, that this was normal. All part of growing up. Childlike wonder at the world is not for adults to have. Never have the words a therapist felt so fundamentally wrong. I was heartbroken leaving that session. My worst fears had become true: I’d never find that joy again. 

Over the years, I never lost my love of stories. I started listening to audiobooks, a form of media which I used to despise. Why listen to a book when you can read it? Hold it? Smell it?  I watched movies and series and listened to podcasts. But I didn’t really read. I had lost the patience for them. Don’t get me wrong: I still loved my books. I have some beautiful editions of my favourite books that I loved showing off to people. I bought new books as well. New stories. And I told myself I’d get around to reading them soon. But I never did. 

I used to write a lot, too as a kid. I wrote diaries, though I never kept up with them for long. I wrote short stories and even started writing a book, which was not very good and is now lost forever. I wrote loads of poems. One of them I wrote sitting on a roof in a night gown while the full moon shone behind the church tower. I still have that one. It isn’t half bad. But I stopped writing years ago. It left me, when I left the books. 

Some years ago, my partner at the time introduced me to a new book. Theyread it aloud to me in the evenings. It was called “Neverwhere” by a man I had never heard of: Neil Gaiman. I fell immediately in love with the story and the writing and the characters. Soon enough I owned all the Neil Gaiman audiobooks I could find and listened to them ravenously.  

Within the last year I have tried to read four books. I finished one of them. Not a big one. And it took me multiple months. I had to force myself to finish it, even though I loved the story and the writing. The other three I abandoned halfway through, feeling terribly about myself and my apparent inability to read. 

And then Amazon Prime released season two of Good Omens and I found myself swept up in a maelstrom of emotions and hype and fan theories. I started reading fan fictions for the first time in my life. Long ones too. I started telling anyone and everyone about how much I loved and missed the show. About how genius a writer Neil Gaiman was. How I had loved his way with words and worlds for such a long time and that he was my favourite author. 

A week ago, I had a realisation: I had never actually read a Neil Gaiman book. I’ve had them read to me. I’ve listened to hours and hours of audiobooks. But I had never ever actually sat myself down and read a book by my favourite author with my own eyes. Held it. Smelt it.  

So, I picked up one of the “I’ll get around to it books” from a stack on my hallway book shelf and started reading. A little thing called “The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. I finished it within three days. I read it on my way to and from work. One night, I walked all the way from the tram stop to my flat whilst continuing to read, phone flashlight in hand, so the darkness wouldn't steal the story away from me.  

And as I finally looked up from on the pages again and looked around, something else happened. It was as if the words had given my mind a little nudge. The world was spinning slightly differently. And all over sudden I could see the world as I had as a kid. There are more colours now. Everything is a bit more sparkly, more magical. I can taste stories on the wind, see them in the early morning sunshine. I have ideas rattling in my head that need writing down for the first time in what feels like forever. Ideas for short stories, for poems. Maybe even for a book.

I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am to Neil for giving me back something, I knew I had lost forever. Because childlike wonder at the world is not for adults to have. With nothing but his words printed on paper he remade the way I see the world. If that isn’t some kind of magic, then I don’t know what could be. And who wants to be an adult anyway.

[fantasykim]

Writing sprint

“Hey, can I ask a weird question?” she asked, I nodded for her to continue. “Did you ever have a crush on me? Ya know, back in highschool?” 

I looked down at my hands, picking at the last bits of nail polish and chewing the inside of my cheek. I wonder if I had been obvious about it, or if she was only realizing in hindsight. Or maybe she was just curious. I had always been out and proud since before we met. And she only just came out to me. Makes sense she might ask a question like this.

I took in a deep breath and held it in for a moment before responding with a small, sheepish smile. “Yeah… I did.” 

At first I had just thought she was the coolest person I’d ever met. I traded in my leggings and skirts for jeans after a few months of knowing her. When she wore a bandana in her hair, so did I. Sometimes we would match colors by accident. Those days made me smile brighter.

I watched every show she mentioned, and listened to every song she quoted. Just to understand her better. So I could relate, and talk about whatever she wanted to talk about. 

She cared about me in a way no one ever had before, and it touched me in ways I’d never understood until meeting her. And I fell for her. Hard and fast. She was my everything. I couldn’t go a day without talking about her, to her, thinking about her. 

Her arsenal of bracelets and rings made me look into jewelry. And I bought her a necklace. One day I asked her what piece of her jewelry she loved most, and I prayed she would say the yin that hung around her neck, that matched the yang hanging from mine. And when she did I had to hide my smile.

I told her secrets I’d never shared before. She didn’t judge me on my low days, instead she lifted me up. And I did the same for her. We made sure we had at least half of the same classes each year of highschool. And her mother never asked if I was coming over anymore because she knew the answer was yes.

I was so in love with her. 

But she was straight. So I dated other girls, tried to pretend I wasn’t. But I only got hurt in the process.

Maybe I hid behind those relationships, for fear of her realizing I loved her.  Had it not worked? Had she seen through it all? The only problem was even though she wasn’t straight anymore, I still couldn’t have her.

“When did you stop?” she asked with a smug smile. “Having a crush on me, I mean.” she knew she was beautiful. She was the most confident girl I’d ever met. And I’m so lucky it rubbed off on me in our highschool years.

When I got too low and it started to drag her down, I thought I had lost her as a friend. But I didn’t stop loving her then. When we got into a huge fight junior year, and didn’t talk for a month. I thought it was all over. But my heart still ached for her then. When I tried a little to hard to get her to be around me and she was annoyed, I feared I had scared her away. But we stayed best friends.

When she called her other good friend a ‘best friend’ it sent a dagger through my heart. But I know more than most people that you can have more than one best friend. But sometimes I stayed awake at night, wondering if she thought of me as a best friend, or if it was only one sided like my love. I simply couldn’t stand the thought.

I wrote essays on how much she meant to me, letters she would never read. Epic poems of how deep my love ran through my veins, all of it for her, but she would never know. Because what if it was too much. What if that was what made her turn her back on me?

What if offering to turn out friendship into a relationship was the straw that broke the camel's back. Something we could never come back from.

I couldn’t take that chance.

I opened our texts and typed it out hundreds of times, only to abuse the backspace key into wanting a divorce with me. When I ever did say something sweet to her, she would always laugh it off and brush it aside. So instead of letting each other know we valued the other, we called each other names with big smiles.

I still tell her basically everything. But I have a feeling it’s not the same for her. And I wonder when the rift between us came to be. Are we more fragile now? Were we stronger before?

I’m scared of what my words can do, and how I can never take them back. But i’ve waited long enough. I’ve waisted so much time already. I’ll never move on if I don't know how she feels about me in return.

When did I stop liking her?

I chuckled softly and bit my lip. Then slowly lift my eyes to meet hers.

“I never did.”

[harrowharks-iliac-crest]

Epiparodos (Nine months and twenty-nine days before)

And here we have - another timeskip to before.

Third skull.

THESE TWO ARE INTENDED FOR YOU,” said Harrowhark Nonagesimus. “They are to be opened only in the event of my death or of the other happenstance, though I have very little hope of you not opening them the moment my back is turned.

Ohhhhhhhhh ohhhhh here we goooooo!!! Here we gooooooo!! Past Harrow who wrote the letters!!!!

Let's have some fucking Answers!!!!!

“A blood ward is for those without imagination,” said the astonishingly nude-faced girl. The Ninth necromancer unpainted was revealed to be a lean-faced, diamond-jawed nunlet, with very dark brows divided by a crisscross frowning mark—striking looking, certainly, even spiritual,

Oh - this isn't told from Harrow's perspective - but rather, most likely, from Ianthe's.

Ianthe found herself thinking what the face could have done to it—the top lip was softly curved, as though the painter had not been able to help embellishing where they thought nobody would notice; the arch of that philtrum was close to a poem. The cheek was unreasonably smooth, considering the amount of topological greasepaint those Ninth House pores must have seen; those heavy eyelids, deep-set, thick with black lashes, a vanity that nobody in that shuffling mausoleum had thought to shear.

Keep it in your pants, Ianthe. Lol.

“I asked you because you know what it is,” she said haltingly, “to be—fractured.” Of such banality was grief made.

Oh Harrow.

If I'm understanding correctly, this is the part where she asks Ianthe to, as God put it, mess with her temporal lobe.

Nonagesimus shut her eyes briefly. When they opened, one was—not correct. She stared at her own heterochromatic, night-and-day gaze, at those celestially mismatched irises. One black. One gold.

One of the letters said to open if her eyes start to change. Is this Gideon's eyes, coming through - just before Ianthe is about to excise all trace of Gideon from Harrow's brain?

As a last act of pettiness, Ianthe coaxed a new crop of that lightless black hair out of the scalp, and fidgeted with the follicles so that they would squirt out a little extra, cursing the Ninth House nun to almost ceaseless haircuts. It was the little things that mattered.

Lol, rude.

Okay so - Ianthe started the process - but Harrow did most of it herself? That's what it sounds like - interesting...

It tickled her fancy to imagine Harrowhark falling asleep crying, like any lovelorn child. What a fool. What a destructive, romantic, ridiculous act. It was always a certain kind of ass who approached love like that—

Oh, so maybe one of my earlier theories had been more correct - that Harrow did this to herself to avoid facing her own grief, for Gideon.

Seems on brand enough.

“Someday I’ll marry that girl,” she said aloud. “It might be good for her.” And: “Probably not, though.” And then Ianthe the First went to see a man about a queen.

Yeah, probably might not good for her, Ianthe. That's one hell of an ominous declaration to make, for Ianthe, who we know loves no one more than herself - at least no one other than her twin sister.

And that last sentence sure sounds like there's still something else going on, something involving the Blood of Eden, probably.

Thus ends Act Four, and oh my god!!! Shit is about to hit the fan big time in the present - we might get some answers from the past - we might change POVs again - Harrow might die.

I still hope not. I would miss her terribly.

[engagedtobefree]

I’ve been struggling the past few weeks a bit with my mood. I feel kind of apathetic, I guess you could say. My usual optimism has been a struggle to tap into, but I think it’s finally coming around. To be fair to me, this new year has been a bit rough, and I don’t think I’ve actually had time to stop and process everything. I rang in the new year in bed, sick from a virus, then 3 weeks later just as I was starting to feel better, my friend Craig died. Then two days after his viewing, I was sick with covid for the first time ever. After I got over that, I developed a UTI, which luckily wasn’t as bad as it usually is. I tend to get them fairly easily because of my bladder disorder, but of course after I was getting back into the swing of things after covid, I fell asleep super early one night with a completely full bladder, and that was that 🙃 Then a few weeks later my mom and I had to put her dog to sleep. And really, the rest of it has been me trying to catch up while also focusing on trying to improve my mental health, which is a plate full all on its own. 

Oh, and Idk if I mentioned I’m writing a poem a day this year. Me, who is not consistent with anything, struggles with routines, and has never kept a streak of anything beyond maybe 2 or 3 weeks, has written 100 fucking poems this year!! Today will be day 101 once I write it. I’m actually so glad I started this, because I have needed it to process so many things and also it’s been one of the few saving graces of this year so far. It was a last-minute decision too. I didn't really plan for it, write it down as a goal, or think too much about it; I asked for a notebook for Christmas and my mom ended up getting me 3, one of which has 366 pages, which is perfect since it’s a leap year. That meant I could use a page a day. I wanted to increase my vocabulary, relearn and learn anew about poetry itself, get creative every day, and also write more often so I have the chance to not stay stuck writing about one thing for months and months and months. I take forever to finish a poem because 1. I write inconsistently and 2. I overanalyze every single word because I want it to reflect as accurately as possible what I’m writing about and I also want it to be “good”. My poems have always been deeply personal, so the truth of how I speak through them has always been very important to me. Since I’ve started doing this though, I noticed that I can still do that without spending forever on something, and that the more I write, the more inspiration blesses me. I still have my separate book for my other stuff, but I’ve almost exclusively been focusing on my daily poems since this year started, mostly because that’s all I have time for. No doubt once I get back to my other book, I will still take my time lol, which is fine, cuz now I still have my dailies. Also I realized that it’s okay that my “good” looks different every day, and not everything I write has to be a masterpiece. I’ve always been very self-critical, and this has helped me realize that expecting only “good” material is treating myself as a machine rather than a human being. If I don’t like what I write that day, at least I wrote something, and there will be another opportunity to write again tomorrow. I will probably still be really anal about editing stuff later, but right now, writing every day has been a lot of fun. 

Okay, so now it's time to dive into my personal problems! Wooo! I’m going to start with the one issue I have been hoping for a very long time now would be irrelevant, and that’s Scott. I don’t even tag his name anymore in any personal posts I’ve vented about him in because I just want this to go away, but he has been incessantly trying to get my attention. Literally. Things ended between us a good year and a half ago, but he tried to come back last summer and I was very, very, VERY clear about not wanting to try again and just being friends. He would occasionally reach out to me but it was just niceties and nothing to really worry about, though it did annoy me when he would contact me. But ever since the new year began, he was pestering me almost weekly, asking if I wanted to hang out, commenting on literally every single Snapchat story I post, and asking how I’ve been and saying he misses me. I had legit excuses for the first month and half with getting sick 3 separate times and then my friend Craig dying, but since then it’s mostly been me going to bed before he messages me, ignoring his messages till the morning, him skipping a week in not contacting me, or me just saying I’m too tired for company, which wasn’t actually a lie tbh. I ignored the situation as long as I could before I finally succumbed to the reality that I couldn’t ignore it forever. 

Not this past Friday but the one before was the day I finally decided to deal with it. He was messaging me much earlier in the day than usual, like literally I wasn’t even done work yet, but that also gave me time to feel out what I wanted to do. He asked if he could come over and I told him yes, but then added something pretty close to “I don’t know what your expectations are, but I want you to know that everything I said last summer still stands. I haven’t changed my mind about anything. I am only interested in friendship and nothing more.” I didn’t want him here without me first saying anything to him because I knew he wasn’t going to say anything to me beforehand and I didn’t want to feel like I was caught in some sort of trap in my own home, aka my safe space. He opened my message then didn’t respond for maybe half an hour or so. When he did respond, he said he wanted to hook up with me but he respected if I didn’t want to. Then he said he did really want to be friends at least because he likes me as a person. I told him I know it’s not what he wanted to hear, but I didn’t want him coming here with some idea that something could happen, and that a friendship is really all I want. He responded back that he thought he should tell me before coming over. Okay, so I have a lot to say (vent) about all of that. First off, he wasn’t planning on telling me shit until I said something. He was going to come here and then ask if I wanted to hook up, putting me in an awkward situation when I previously established very clearly I only wanted a friendship and have not even once since then indicated that I have any interest in anything more. This leads me into the second thing which is that he wasn’t even considering what I wanted, just what he wanted. I am very intentional with showing interest. I do not flirt or lead people on. If I flirt, it means I am interested. I have not flirted with Scott since before we even ended things. I send a lot of emojis to anyone and everyone when I message, but I have not sent him any since we broke things off. I also only say someone’s name when messaging if they say mine first or if I am interested. There are some more exceptions to that rule, but if I am consistently saying your name when reaching out, I’m interested. I have not said Scott’s name in messages since before we broke things off. I know that it might not seem like much, but all of that paired with me literally saying I don’t want to try again and only want to be friends should be more than enough to indicate I’m not interested. Thirdly, of course you are going to respect my decision because you’re not going to force me to change my mind. (When he did come over that night, I had a knife and my Simplisafe alert button near me just in case. I don’t think I will ever need them with Scott but you never know.)

I wasn’t sure if he would actually still want to come over after I turned him down, but he was not deterred. Everything went smoothly and it wasn’t awkward, thankfully. He was, however, acting very differently than usual. He was friendly, engaging, talkative, and gave me a bunch of compliments. If he had done this switcheroo like 2 years ago, I might have fallen for it, might have second guessed the fact that I wasn’t being treated right and that I wasn’t happy and ignored that deep down I didn't actually want to be with him, but I’m way past that now. The way he was acting was how he always acted with everyone else except me, which in the past, hurt me a lot. When it came to me, he was often cold, distant, non-communicative, inconsiderate. So for me, him doing this now only really solidifies him in the friendship role. It’s weird in a way because I previously wanted him to act this way with me, like how he did with friends and acquaintances, because it was the nicer Scott, not realizing that if he treated me like other people, it would put me in the same role as them. But now, me actually fulfilling my wish from years ago puts me in the friend/acquaintance role by him being nicer to me. I got my wish, but it happened much later than past me wanted and in a way I hadn’t intended, and it does me more service now than it would have then. I mean, I know there’s the extra caveat of him hoping it will get him laid, but in reality, it pushes him even further away from that than he was to begin with, which was already pretty dang far. I guess in his mind, he thinks there’s a chance I could eventually want him again, or at least enough to sleep with him, but that chance is zero. If I decided I’m done with someone, that means I spent a long time thinking over the situation, how I’m being treated, how I feel about them, who they really are as a person, our relationship and dynamic, if it’s actually really love or something else, what a future with them would look like, etc etc etc. I don’t make decisions like this lightly; I look from every angle and leave no stone unturned, so when I decide I’m done, that means I’m done. For good. Forever. Scott does not know this, but as I’ve said, I haven’t given him a single reason to hope. He’s decided on his own that something could still possibly happen in the future. When he left, he told me to not be a stranger and that we should catch up again soon. I don’t plan on that, but I was happy with how things went, oddly enough. I didn’t really want to see him, but the fact that I did and that I was able to set a clear boundary made me happy, and I felt a sort of completion around the situation. No doubt he’s still going to contact me (he already has lol), but I don’t feel worried or annoyed by it anymore. I’m happy with my decision, restated my boundary with a lot more confidence than last time (not that I should have had to repeat it though), and I feel like I can look forward now without having to worry too much about this. I didn’t feel unsafe, though I figured I wouldn’t, but I wanted to take some extra precautions just in case since I do live alone.

It’s funny because a few years ago when Scott and I still worked together, I had reached a place of complete acceptance with the situation and was able to be completely content with what it was without needing any answers. It was actually during that time that I think we formed a pretty decent friendship, and that’s when I felt we did best. At the time, I thought that what I was feeling was only because of how I was able to find my peace with everything, but looking back now, I think it’s also because that was just where we thrived best together: in a friendship. I’m not going to actively work at being his friend now, especially because I know he still has hopes that I’ll change my mind (I won’t) and something will happen (it won’t), but at least right now, I don’t need to block him or cut him off, which means I don’t feel in danger or like I’m being harassed. However, I don’t like that he still treats me like I’m stupid. I know why he is suddenly making such an effort and doing a total 180 in how he’s treating me. I saw it immediately and haven’t fallen for it for a second, so the fact that he thinks I might actually fall for this is a bit insulting to my intelligence. I’m sure some of it is actually genuine, like him saying he’d like to be friends regardless, which is fine, but just don’t insult me in the process, dude. Also, if he continues to not respect my decision and tries to pressure me, I will block him and cut him off. He can be my friend, he just needs to accept that nothing more will come of it.

Anyway, I feel like I was able to work through that finally. I’ve also been working on some of the past trauma from him, though I had to put a lot of that on hold because of everything that went on this year. I know I can’t move forward until it no longer has such a strong effect on me. I think how I handled the situation now says a lot. When he tried to come back last year, I was anxious, emotional, and very uncomfortable with having to handle the situation and tell Scott I didn’t want to try again. I was still processing a lot of past trauma and while I was positive about not wanting to be with him, I was afraid of hurting him. This time was so different!! I 100% put myself first, and I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for stating what I wanted and not compromising where I shouldn’t. Growing up in an abusive household where there was a lack of boundaries and respect instilled a false belief in me that caring about how I’m treated is wrong and that attempting to do so is insulting and harmful to the other person. I do still have to deal with this from time to time, but I handle it much better now, and I hope I only continue to grow in that regard. I am 32 years old and still learning to untangle the web of lies that abuse taught me, but here I am, fucking doing it and making so much progress with it. I’m so proud of myself.

So now I’m going to unsmoothly segway into talking about Chris now. This poor guy lol. Anytime I write a personal post on here he ends up in it, and he doesn’t even talk to me. Sorry, Chris, but you’re still on my mind. Some of this is also actually relevant to what I was just talking about though so I’m going to start with that. So back in November when I had my last appointment with him, I struggled a lot. I felt I did some things fairly well, but when it came to flirting and asking if he was single, I failed. If I had to choose a physical representation of it, it would be someone falling flat on their face, trying to get up, then falling again and conceding to lay there till it was over. Chris has no way of knowing why I couldn’t. I mean, if he happened to guess, I’d be very impressed. Back when I worked with Scott, it was difficult. I was unknowingly flirting with a married man for months, who flirted back with me, and then after I found out he was married I was mortified. We ended up on friendly terms and then I developed feelings for him. We stayed friendly and I would talk to him all the time at work. He would start flirting with me again and then I’d naively think maybe something was going on, maybe he separated from his wife or was going through a divorce, so I’d flirt back. Then after several weeks of that, nothing would happen, he’d never bring anything up, so I’d ask him what was going on and he’d tell me nothing, he was married, it is what it is, this can never go anywhere. Then I’d get upset and mad that I fell for it, stop talking to him for a while, and then the cycle would repeat. There was one period where I accepted I wasn’t going to get answers (I mentioned it above) and so we were just friends and nothing more, and that was really the only good, healthy period we had. That was like the second half of 2019 up until he left in October 2020, of course with most of 2020 being working from home. Other than that, it was mostly turmoil, and mostly for me. I was 26 when everything started, and Scott was 44. I kept placing my trust in an older man to do the right thing and to not come into work and flirt with me unless he was available, but I was really naive. I talked to him because I wanted to, not because I expected anything to happen, which I didn’t want anyway unless his marriage broke off, but when he would flirt with me again, it would give me false hope that something could actually happen. I always felt such extreme guilt every time too, knowing that once more I was pursuing a married man who was leading me on while his wife had no idea about any of it. I still carry guilt from my actions during that time, because had I known from the beginning that he was married, I would’ve never looked again in his direction. I was so ashamed of myself for so long because I had a choice to say, “No, this cannot continue, I cannot trust this man unless he gives me an explicit reason that I can”, but instead, I chose to keep trusting. I chose to keep flirting. I have worked through some of that shame and guilt, but not all of it. I recognize that I did try over and over again to not interact with him and to avoid him, but his office door was literally 5 feet from my cubicle, which made it hard. To be clear, I never would have had an affair or taken it outside the office at all. He did bring that up fairly early on during a period when I wasn’t pissed off about things, and I told him I did not want to have an affair with him and he agreed. Now that I think about it, I wonder if his answer was dependent on mine though. This scenario kind of happened again after we reconnected back in May/June of 2021. Since he and his wife had separated recently, he made it clear he didn’t want to enter anything new, no dating or romantic partnership until later down the line, but he wasn’t sure about sexual, so he left that up to me to think about. When I told him no, he agreed, but I was never sure if his response would’ve been different if I had said yes.

Anyway, continuing…I felt very stuck, and it was something I brought up all the time in therapy. I didn’t know how to get unstuck. I was only a temp at my job at the time, and I didn’t have health insurance or any time off. NJ didn’t enact the statewide mandate that all employees must be given at least 2 sick days a year until the same month I was finally hired permanently, so if I took any time off, I didn’t get paid for it. (I just looked it up to confirm the date it was enacted to make sure I had it right, and apparently it’s 40 hours now that are mandatory, which is cool they improved the policy!!) I worked a second job and still lived paycheck-to-paycheck. I couldn’t afford to spend more than $20-$30 a week on groceries, which included toiletries and cleaning supplies. I had to stop paying my electric bill because I couldn’t afford it and I needed the shut-off notice to get assistance to help pay for the bill, which thankfully covered several months and also covered my past-due amounts. My apartment was old and shitty, but it was the only place that was affordable for me at the time. My first year there was $715 a month then the 2nd year was $740. It was definitely a health hazard though: the carpets were musty despite several cleanings; there was water damage in the wall and on the ceiling; the water damage on the ceiling was above my bed, which I couldn’t move anywhere else, and kept forming mold that my complex just kept painting over; the front door wasn’t fit right so there were huge gaps between the door and the frame; the water heater would switch to cold after only 5 or 10 minutes in the shower; and the heating system was so old that in the winter it cost me $200+ just to heat my tiny little 400 square foot studio apartment (it was all electric). I couldn’t interview for other jobs because that meant I wouldn’t get paid if I took time off and then that meant I’d have to stress even more over what bill wouldn’t get paid or if I’d have to eat even less than my 2 meals a day. I had to make sure my cat and guinea pig were fed before I fed myself. At my other job, I worked Sunday brunches, which were the most stressful and busiest shifts, so no other hostess wanted to partner with working on them let alone working it by themselves, which often led to me working the whole shift by myself, and I took up other shifts if I had the time or energy to. My mental health was not great and was only made worse by my life circumstances, and I had to go on a second anxiety medication for a while to stop my anxiety attacks.

I wanted to be out of the situation with Scott, even if that meant leaving to go work someplace else, but I was already doing everything I could and I still couldn’t find a way out without jeopardizing my well-being even further. Moving back in with my mom, which was something I eventually did and regretted, was not an option for me because I worked really hard to get out of the abusive household I grew up in. I say all of this not as an excuse but for context. And for forgiveness. I look back at my younger self and she was dealing with so much stress. My basic needs were not even being fully met, but I continued to show up and to handle things in the best ways I could, and sometimes the decisions I made weren’t actually good ones at all. Still though, I kept believing in people, I kept hoping for the best and trusting, and I was actually really grateful for my life at the time, probably even more so than I am now. I didn’t have much, but I had my own place, my own life, freedom, and that was always something I held onto, even during the worst of things. I tried desperately to find a way to let go of my feelings for Scott, but I couldn’t help how I felt because I kept choosing to see the best while ignoring the rest. It took me a very long time to realize Scott was not the one for me and that he wasn’t the type of person I wanted as my romantic partner. I didn’t accept him fully, flaws and all, and we were not compatible in the ways we needed to be. I wouldn’t have been happy if we did get together, but unfortunately I didn’t see all of that until after he left my work, separated from his wife, and reached out to me on Instagram to connect again and start what would eventually become a “situationship” between us. Still, I’m glad I saw it sooner rather than later and before it devolved into an actual romantic relationship. 

So when I could feel myself hesitation the first time and then shaking the second time when I went to ask Chris if he was single, it was from that past period of my life. I saw it all flash in my mind immediately: all the times I confronted Scott and the answers I got back, and all of the sureness and trust I felt about Chris was immediately squashed by those images. I wrote about a bunch of parallels in my post after my appointment with him, but I wanted to dive a bit deeper into that here in a broader sense. Man at his work flirting with me. Check. Man makes it known he’s interested, then doesn’t take it anywhere. Check. Man offers no explanation whatsoever for that. Check. Man does not willingly mention his relationship status. Check. Man is cautious about what information he gives about himself and words things so that while he can respond, he never actually reveals anything about himself or his life. Check. In someone else’s mind, those might just be indicators of someone who is reserved, guarded, private, whatever. In my mind, those checks are potential red flags. Those checked boxes come with the thoughts, “Oh no, am I going to flirt with an unavailable man again? Am I going to get caught in a similar situation that causes me a lot of duress and emotional pain? Am I going to unwillingly be complicit in some man’s selfish attempts at getting attention from me?” Chris doesn’t know any of that. I felt disappointed in myself after my appointment, and I felt like I had probably disappointed him too, though I don’t know for sure. If I had the chance to tell him why, I would, even if I had to sum it up briefly. I mean, I guess I could just say how I was in a situation with someone before where they weren’t trustworthy and it affected me more than I realized. Turns out traumatic things actually traumatize you. Who knew? 🙃 That’s assuming it’s even necessary for me to explain, since I have no idea at this point if Chris is still interested. He hasn’t brought up the date, and I have tried to initiate meeting up twice with no luck. I’m willing to be patient and wait, but I don’t know exactly what it is I’m waiting for. Is there really a possibility this can go somewhere, or am I being duped again? I didn’t reach out for 2 ½ months, but then last weekend I texted him, and it took several days for us to send only a few messages. He only responded once or twice a day, and then he did that thing again where he told me to have a wonderful day at the end of his message, then when I responded back with a bit more, he never responded back. I still don’t know how to take that. He did say he’s been getting sick like every other week, which is weird cuz that’s exactly what happened to me in the beginning of the year, so I can understand he may not be up for talking to anyone or even checking his phone at all, but I don’t know if that’s what it was or not. I don’t mind slow responses, but it would help to know what was going on and where I stand. Otherwise, it confuses me and I don’t know what to make of it.

I also don’t know if I’m being too impatient? He gave me his number last May and didn’t mention going on a date until December. Obviously, with how this year has gone just for me alone, not including him being sick and whatever else he has going on, nothing could have really happened since he mentioned the date. Maybe I’m being too hopeful? I don’t know 😕 I also don’t know if I have worked through what I needed to regarding Scott, because I have nothing to trigger it. That time of my life when we worked together was triggered only when an outside catalyst brought it up, one that placed me back in a moment that was similar and reminded me of it. The only way I’ll really know for sure that I’ve overcome all of this and am ready to step forward without the past holding me back is when I’m with Chris. There’s no one else I’m interested in, I’m rarely ever into anyone anyway, I don’t like random dating, and I have no interest in hooking up with random people, so there is literally not a single other person who can do this. I can’t know on my own; I can only do the work and hope that I’ve made progress with it and healed from it. At this point, I guess I’ll find out soon enough if I can pursue Chris without old baggage weighing me down since my appointment is coming up. I know I will still probably have some trepidations and fears that pop up, but as long as the most traumatic things are taken care of, I can push through all the other stuff.

I had my yearly appointment with the oral surgeon scheduled for the 15th of this month to make sure the dense spot in my jaw bone hasn’t grown, but he won’t be in that day so it got pushed back to the 29th. My next cleaning with Chris is scheduled for 2 ½ weeks later on May 16th. I feel nervous even thinking about it. At my last appointment I wasn’t sure what to expect since over the course of 6 months he only reached out to me 2 or 3 times, and after a while I gave up on reaching out to him because I was confused. I was determined to see him during this current time frame before my next appointment, but it looks like that isn’t going to happen. I feel like I’m going to really put myself out there and take some risks when my appointment does come around. Nothing is moving along, which I know we’re both contributing to, so I want to at least feel good knowing that I did my part, and I don’t feel that way yet. So far, I’ve relied on past trauma and doubt to take the lead more than I’ve allowed the present and trust to do so, and I want to flip that now. I have been trying not to think about everything with Chris that has been shouting “GREEN FLAG!!” at me because a lot of it isn’t logical but rather intuitive and spiritual, but I think that those places are where the answer actually lies. Overthinking gets me nowhere, so I have to stop letting it be an option. I can still be cautious, but not to a degree where it is detrimental to anything happening at all.

Aside from past trauma interfering there’s definitely been a few other things that have contributed to my lack of pursuit here. In general, I never know how people perceive me. I have always felt like I come off as unlikable, so even when people tell me good things about myself, I struggle to hold onto those things and believe in them. I’ve been trying to shift that because I know that is a belief I hold and not necessarily one that is true. I’m sure there have been people who genuinely have not liked me as a person, but with 8 billion people in the world, odds are at least some of them do or will like me. I mean, I do have friends and the one and only yoga class I teach at the moment continues to get a lot of students, so that all has to say something. I think a big part of that belief I hold also stems from childhood trauma, but I can’t remember when it started. For as long as I can remember, it feels like I’ve always felt that way about myself. So when Chris literally doesn’t talk to me, takes a whole day to respond when I reach out, and then hasn’t actually planned the date that he brought up months ago, I just assume the worst. Logically, I know there could be a whole host of other reasons that might not have anything to do with me, or maybe even something else that does, but it’s hard for me to shake off how I’ve thought about myself for pretty much my entire life. So in my mind, a quick assumption that pops up is that I’m bothering Chris when he wants nothing to do with me. I don’t want to place any assumptions or expectations on him, but untangling those is difficult and is taking longer than I would like them to. This is something that I actually personally started working on years ago, and while it might not be apparent, I’ve made a TON of progress with it. I used to be a lot worse with it, but I still have some ways to go. I know that it’s my responsibility to find peace within myself no matter what external circumstances look like. Anway, back to the other stuff. There’s also been the other things that have been taking forever, like feeling at peace with the Scott situation, which I feel like has finally freaking happened, and then personal accountability I have with other things, like my ADD, which I’m still working on finding the right medication for. I have to remind myself though that it’s okay to be a work-in-progress. I tend to be in this “Everything needs to be perfect before anything can happen” mindset (with everything, not just romance), but in reality, things will never be perfect. If anything is ever 100% perfect and nothing is going wrong, it won’t last forever. Even the bad stuff doesn’t. The person meant for me won’t care and will want to handle all our messes together. But first I have to show up and be willing to tackle all those things on my own to the best of my abilities. I think I have been doing that, but I need to expand it a bit more to everything, and not just the more immediate things. My mental health struggles don’t make it any easier, but that only means I have to be more gentle and understanding with myself while continuing to work towards finding solutions, that’s all.

I’ve also struggled with that aspect of forgiving myself for past mistakes, not just the ones I made regarding Scott but with other things as well. I wonder why I deserve the relationship and connection I desire, what makes me so great and special as to receive it, and whether I’m even worthy of someone looking at me and knowing that I’m it for them. I wrote about this in my daily poem the other night. It was about a bunch of stuff but Chris was included in it. I’m not going to post the actual wording of what I wrote because I’m not ready to share that poem yet, even though that particular section is my favorite within the whole piece, but essentially what I said was how being with Chris would be like accepting forgiveness for myself. I want that, I just haven’t fully gotten there yet, and I’m not sure whether it needs to be mostly complete before anything can happen or if it’s okay that it remains a bit of a work-in-progress if and after things do get rolling. I’m hoping for the latter. I know it might sound kind of crazy that I fear forgiveness, but that is really what it is at its core: fear. I am tired of fear. I know that it’s a survival mechanism that kicks in and so I will never be able to be completely rid of certain ones, but I can at least shift my relationship with it. Taking a page out of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic here in saying that fear will always be in the car, but I do not need to let it steer the wheel or even sit in the passenger seat. It can stay in the backseat where it holds no control. I’m afraid of making the wrong choices again with someone and of getting myself in a similar situation as before, but that fear isn’t going to get me closer to anyone; it’s only going to keep me alone and afraid. I asked myself what is the worst that could happen if I do end up in the same situation, and the outcome was honestly not that bad. At the worst, I’d block Chris, find a new dentist office, and work on healing again. I could be grateful that it isn’t exactly the same as before, that I have more agency and options now and am not stuck like how I was in my situation with Scott, and that me being deceived would only say something bad about Chris and not me. Of course I'll be really disappointed, and I might also struggle with trusting myself and relying on my gut to tell me if someone is trustworthy, but I can work through all of that with time. When I take a look at all of that, it’s really not that bad. Yes, it would suck, but I’d get through it. Even as I write this though, I don’t think any of that will come to fruition. When I question and second-guess everything, asking the “what ifs” and doing the whole comparison thing, that fear builds in my chest and I think about how I can’t do this, I must be crazy to think that I can trust that trusting feeling that I feel with Chris. But when I close my eyes and take a moment to think clearly about Chris, letting myself remember his energy - the curiosity, comfort, warmth, gentleness, brightness, and pureness of it - that is when I know. That is when the truth of who he is makes itself known. I will never find the truth of him by looking at someone else’s actions, words, and energy. I will never find Chris by looking back at my relationship with someone else. I can only find Chris in Chris. I can only find any truth about what is going on by looking at my experiences with him and him alone. That is a very difficult and enormous shift I have been trying to make, but despite the doubts that creep into my mind, I believe that I can do it and that it is possible. Yes, I have to keep in mind that I could be wrong about him, but right now I am not giving enough energy to the thought that I could be right. 

When I had last year’s appointment with the oral surgeon, I was also kind of in the same space, but it was only about whether or not Chris was interested in me. I didn’t really have much to go off of except 3 things: he did a double-take when he saw me, he was asking me questions that I was sure he was not asking everyone else (or at least with the same intention), and I just had an overall feeling. Well, okay, there was a bunch of other stuff, but I meant things that are a bit more tangible, I guess you could say. I’ve never been wrong in my life about someone being interested in me, I always just know, but I was accepting of the possibility that I could be wrong this time. I had told both of my best friends about everything, and it was kind of similar to what was going on in my head: Stacy was really supportive, said he was definitely into me, and that I should go for it, while Amanda said I could be reading things wrong, that intuition can’t always be trusted, and that it wasn’t enough to go off of. It’s funny cuz Amanda and I tend to have more views in common than Stacy and I do, but I ended up taking the more positive route, the one that Stacy supported. Amanda also is not very optimistic on the romantic front whereas I am, so this is something that we differ a lot on. I also don’t believe that intuition ever lies. For me, there’s always been a very strong distinction between emotions, thoughts, and intuition, so while I was still open to being wrong, I decided to trust my intuition more than my mind. Then when I was at my appointment with the oral surgeon, as soon as I crossed paths with Chris and our eyes met, I knew instantly that he was going to give me his number, and at my next appointment, he did. I have not been wrong about anything so far, and I’ve been trying to trust myself more, open my intuitive capabilities even wider, and I can’t do that if I’m always in my head about things. This one poem by Erin Hanson popped into my head and it feels relevant here: “There is freedom waiting for you, On the breezes of the sky, And you ask "What if I fall?" Oh but my darling, What if you fly?” I keep asking myself over and over, “What if I’m wrong?” but then there’s also a voice that follows it and asks, “But what if I’m right?” I won’t know unless I take a chance. I have always taken chances on the wrong people, and I don’t want that to deter me from trying again, because then I could miss out on the right person. I have to try. If I’m wrong, then I’ll deal with that when the time comes, and at least I can say that I tried and took a chance. If I’m right, then my life could possibly be changed forever.

I have tried so hard not to have hopes, because hope always brought me disappointment, but before, I only thought I knew, when in reality I was ignoring the actual knowing voice. This is different. I don't think I know, I do know. I've always known, and I've tried not to know. It's the opposite of how it's always been. If I trust this, it could potentially have a different outcome than all those other times too. I’ve been questioning and second-guessing and doubting, when deep down inside I’m being told to trust. I can’t predict the outcome of this situation, but I know I can trust whatever this is, and I need to lean into that without any more hesitation. I know. I know it’s safe to trust this. I read a lot of comics/manhwas in the Webtoon app, and right now I’ve been trying to read completed ones so I can focus more on current ones, and one I’m reading right now is called Aerial Magic. It’s about a young witch who can’t read spells, and she had trouble finding an apprenticeship that would take her. She applied to over 400 different places, and only 1 responded, which is the place she’s apprenticing at. While on the phone with her dad, she said she got lucky, and her dad responded that she was dismissing her hard work and that “It isn’t luck that you found the right person. It’s because you kept on reaching out and you refused to stop until you found someone who reached back.” How many people give up? How many people settle? How many people stop trying to grow and do better, or think there’s a limit to how much they’re able to improve, or believe it’s only the other person who needs to be improving and doing the work? I have never given up on myself and what I know I can have and is possible for me. Despite any doubts or perceived limitations, whether from myself or others, I’ve always pushed through. I may move slowly, but I never stop moving. All of my previous failed attempts at finding my person were stepping stones. I let those people and situations rip me apart, and then I put myself back together again, even when I didn’t want to do it. The thought that I have to has always driven me. I’ve never seen any other choice. When I looked at myself and adjusted to the newness of who I was with those pieces put back together, I realized that I somehow was more beautiful and more resilient. I grew, and while those growing pains hurt, they never stopped me. Growth is never easy, and more often than not the most growth comes from the hardest circumstances, but it’s necessary if we want to become our best selves. The growth we are looking for doesn’t come without the sacrifice of our own ease and comfort. We must go through it and heal it, and then we come out better for it. 

Also, things I’ve felt and experienced with Chris have never happened before. There’s been a lot, and I wrote about some of them in past posts, although now that I’m thinking about it, some of it I might not have actually posted. I never made my one private post public, made a second private post I also never made public and then forgot about, and I started a Google docs draft writing about a ton of stuff last year that I never finished or posted, so some things I think I posted might not be on here. Oops lol I like to have all my stuff in one place, but whatever. I know certain things I definitely didn’t write about, but there’s less of those than ones I did write about. Anyway, my point is, I’m skipping that to write about something else I haven’t yet, or at least haven’t written about in great detail. It’s Chris’s energy, and how I can sense it. I’ve always been able to pick up on other people’s energies, like the essence of who they are, to a certain degree, but mostly I just feel emotions coming off of people, especially strong ones. I’m not sure if everyone is like that? I used to think so, until I was watching some astrology reel on Youtube not too long ago and of course a bunch of grown ass men who think they’re amazing for shitting on people’s interests that have nothing to do with them infiltrated the comment section. One of the comment threads was how people don’t give off “energy” and that there’s no such thing, from a scientific perspective, which didn’t sound right to me cuz I thought science literally explained how everything was energy, but sure go off, dude, whatever. That really confused me cuz I thought I was in my head a lot but maybe there are people so disconnected from themselves that they literally do not pick up on these types of things. Anyway, people I am closer with or was close with at one point have stronger energies to me. But ummm I’ve never felt anyone’s energy as strongly as I feel Chris’s. Especially considering I have only met him a handful of times, so it shouldn’t be that way. It was actually the first thing I noticed about him. I mean, he did have a mask on, but even then, I’ve been to plenty of doctors or other health places where they wear masks the whole time, and this has not happened with any of them. I remember the two times I was there before my first appointment with Chris, he was up at the front desk with his mask on, and both times he said we had similar last names. He didn’t look at me either time when he said it, just kind of tilted his head toward his right shoulder in my direction, and I didn’t think anything in particular about him; I only remember feeling curious, but even that wasn’t something I noticed consciously until later, so I quickly forgot about it each time. At my first appointment, I remember he did a double-take, and I didn’t look at him as a natural self-defense mechanism, but when I got back to the room with him, my defense was gone. That doesn’t happen. I always remember to keep it up, no matter what is going on around me. I didn’t even notice I had dropped it when I was with Chris. When I walked into the room behind him, he asked if I wanted him to hang my bag up for me, which I declined. That’s when my first impression of him hit: he was warm and bright. Not just because of his gesture, but his whole being. I felt the warmth and I saw this glow around him. I was thinking earlier about how I am virtually unphased by a lot of things that should probably phase me. This moment - well, my entire first appointment tbh - should have been one of those moments. Even at all my other appointments, there are things I have no logical explanation for and yet, I have remained nothing but calm and collected during all of it. Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it again, that is so insane haha. 

I wasn’t going to write about this other thing, but since I probably already sound like I’m off my rocker, might as well just keep going a bit longer. Okay so, Chris’s eyes. I don’t know if he believes me cuz I’ve only ever commented on his eyes after he’s said something about mine, but asdfghjkl. I lose my absolute MIND over his eyes. This is going to be so freeing to write about. I can feel it. Okay so yeah, at my first appointment I only looked into his eyes once. It was when he was shocked I said I was 30 and I turned my head to look at him. His brown eyes were wide in disbelief. In that moment, I felt like 100 different things. I didn’t look long, but when I turned my head back, I had this strange sort of feeling. Well, first, I corrected myself by saying I was actually 31, and then I remember feeling some sort of weird intensity I had never felt before. I didn’t know what it was, so I felt embarrassed and didn’t look into his eyes again the rest of my time there. Later though, I figured it out. Chris’s eyes are so deep, yet still so bright. There is a depth there that seems to go on endlessly, like an entire other universe, and I wanted to know what was there. That was what I felt embarrassed about, but I couldn’t figure it out at that moment. I had no idea because I had never felt that before. I felt like I wanted to explore everything behind those eyes. I also felt seen and understood, which made no sense to me because there was nothing to see or understand. Maybe in general, like me as a person overall, but not in that particular moment. I still feel all of this when I look into his eyes, and after my last appointment with him, a few times when I was looking in the mirror, I had to do a double-take because I kept seeing his eyes before I saw my own. I know, I sound so psycho 😭 I wish I didn’t. I wish I had some sort of explanation, but I don’t. All I have is all this stuff that has happened and all the things I have felt, and this isn’t even the craziest of it. I still haven’t written about one thing that happened because it wouldn’t be fair to not tell Chris first, though that may never happen anyway. Maybe this is all nothing. Maybe this is…fake? Not real? A blip in the universe? Well - many blips in the universe? I can’t even take any guesses because what am I supposed to even guess at? He’s still just my dental hygienist and I’m still just his patient. There’s no relationship to comment on, little progress to point to, and barely any further interaction to make this stuff feel more tangible and less like I’m a little psychopath. There’s literally nothing to even guess at because these weird little things are all that exist from this. I can’t even talk to Chris about it because he doesn’t talk to me 😑😑😑 These intangible things are all I have. They’re all that’s really tethering me to trust because in the physical world, everything only points to confusion and doubt. This is all I have. I’m either being spiritually led in the direction of something really great, or I have some sort of serious brain injury that only makes itself known in Chris’s presence. I don’t think there’s anything in-between that would rationalize all of this stuff that I’ve seen and experienced.

That brings me around to what I’m going to do. First, I have to decide what I’m willing to live with: the pain of being used again or the pain of missing out. I already know which option I’m going to choose though, and I know what I’m going to do about it. Just like this time last year, I’m going to take the approach of seeing how Chris responds to me at my appointment with the oral surgeon. I assume we’ll cross paths like we have at all my other appointments. If it’s negative, sucks for me, and the result will probably be me crying when I get home because it does not take much to make me cry lol. If it’s positive, great, I plan to make some moves during my next appointment with him. I may have lost my chance at this point, but I’m hoping I haven’t. If I haven’t, awesome, I plan to treat my next appointment with him as a pivotal point in regards to whether things progress or not. So far, Chris has really put himself out there. He’s taken chances on me and I really haven’t responded positively back to him. I mean, I guess you could say the same for me taking chances on him in regards to trying to meet up and him not really responding great, but I’m not going to count that. I’m going to count in-person stuff only. I have roughly 5 weeks to: make sure I work through any lingering potential past romantic trauma that could interfere (this is also for myself too), come up with a coping plan in case something does come up, brush up on my flirting skills so I don’t freeze in the moment (tbh idk how I’m going to do this, maybe in the meantime just keep taking mental notes of all the stuff I like about Chris and hope it helps me seize an opportune moment to be flirty when the time comes), and continue to prioritize my mental health so I don’t get overwhelmed and overstimulated by all the excitement, which will also help with the flirting aspect. That….is a small list but actually a huge load of stuff to take care of in a month’s time. Anyway!! I’m still going to hope for the best. The other stuff doesn’t have to be 100% dealt with, but my #1 priority is making sure Chris feels good and that I make it apparent that “Yes I am into you and I’m sorry I’ve been struggling so much to show you that!!”. Well, I can leave out the apology bit, but yeah, the first part gets a thumbs up. Maybe that’s why Chris hasn’t initiated anything. Maybe he thinks I’m not that interested or only in it for self-gain, neither of which are true at all. I struggle a lot. I struggle with so many things and then I suck at articulating and explaining myself. In fact, when I do try to articulate or explain, I somehow always end up making things worse. It’s better for me to just wipe the slate clean, start fresh, and then hope that if he asks about something I can explain without embarrassing myself further. Maybe he wants me to ask about our date, but since he’s the one that brought it up in the first place, I feel kinda weird asking “So uhhh our date?” Maybe I’m overthinking all of this and it really is as simple as: if he’s not reaching out, then he’s not interested or is just fucking with me for whatever reason. 

I’m tired, man. I’m tired of always being in a place of always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the pain. Waiting to be treated poorly. Waiting for the betrayal. Waiting for the anger. Waiting to be told or shown how I’m not enough. I think to myself, Who will not make me flinch? This all goes way beyond Scott; a large part of my experiences with men, for a majority of my life, have not been positive. Some have even been dangerously negative. I think a part of me is always going to have some fear about being hurt until I’m with someone who doesn’t hurt me in big ways, and the little ones they work with me on and try to make up for. I will gladly give them the same in return. I’m never going to find that person unless I take a chance on them. I want to take the chance on someone who is worth it, and I feel that Chris is. I want my choices in life to reflect that I didn’t give up, that I kept believing in something higher and took the steps I needed in order to actualize that higher life for myself, even if I did so imperfectly with mistakes along the way.

I had a bunch of other stuff I was going to write about but I’ve already been coming back to this over the course of two weeks and it’s getting too long, so I’ll end here for now.

Umm Chris if somehow you’ve found my anonymous blog, which I’m hoping you haven’t, I apologize if any of this sounded weird or made you uncomfortable 😭 Feel free to never talk to me again if that’s the case. If not, see you in a few weeks 🥰