#just feel. what's the words. frustrated and abandoned and alone. and too fucking disabled.

[milkweedman]

Sighs. Am trying to make dinner (on one foot, mid migraine, in a horrible flare up) which my sister said she'd help with. She did a few things (washed the carrots, cut up the beets which were supposed to be whole) and then said i clearly had it under control and went back to the computer. Still have tons left to do. Have no energy and am not even hungry.

[hello-nichya-here]

Why does comics!Zuko keep trying to show Azula sympathy/care when Azula hasn't really reciprocated and he himself have taken actions that indicate that he still hates Azula for abusing him, or at least partake in Ozai's abuse of him, thinks Azula's birth has made his life harder, and thinks of her a ghost of the past? In light of Iroh's "She's crazy and needs to go down" line, wouldn't it be better for everyone if Zuko cut Azula out of his life, or at least until she starts trying to act better?

Disclaimer: Comics!Zuko is an insult to the character because his “kindness” to Azula involved abandoning her in a institution that neglected and abused her, and didn’t even think about her until he needed her help. I refuse to accept that Zuko, after all the growth he went through, would accept such a place even existing in his nation, let alone send his sister there, regardless of whether he still had any love for Azula. But I’m going to pretend the comics didn’t botch him (which meant that Azula had every reason to mistrust his “kindness” considering it brought her nothing but misery) so I can clarify some important things.

“Why does he show her sympathy/care when she doesn’t reciprocate it?” Emotions aren’t rational. You don’t need someone to show you sympathy and care to feel that way about them.

“Why does he show her sympathy if it’s shown that he still resents/hate her on some level?” Feelings are complicated, messy and often contradictory, especially for someone as young and traumatized as Zuko (seriously, get that boy some therapy). He and Azula were taught to see each other as enemies, and have acted as such for a long time. Her breakdown after their Agni Kai humanized her in his eyes again and made him want to give her the same chances he was given, but that doesn’t mean all that baggage would suddenly disappear. It isn’t weird for him to care about her, but still have negative feelings towards her (Important: resenting or even hating her doesn’t mean he would be okay with her being a victim of any kind of abuse, and he sure as fuck wouldn’t be the one responsible for her suffering said abuse in the first place).

“She's crazy and needs to go down" That line is a “funny” (in 2005 logic) joke Iroh made about the character who could have killed him. It also gets a gross, dangerous conotation once the finale happens and Azula has a mental breakdown - the sadly still common idea that the disabled and mentally ill are fundamentally broken and need to be locked away or killed. It could have been seen as a moment that aged badly in a mostly great show, and most people would see it as a unfortunate case of the writers not thinking of the implications of saying something like that about a character that was then shown to be mentally ill. Unfortunately, it was said by Iroh, the character fans refuse to admit is also flawed and can be unfair to others - especially to Azula. So, they act like that bullshit is another case of “Wise words from uncle Iroh” instead of seeing it for what it is: a bad joke/Iroh pulling a Zuko and saying something horrible when he is angry. Don’t repeat that kind of ableist shit like it’s some kind of gospel truth.

“Wouldn't it be better for everyone if Zuko cut Azula out of his life?“ There are only two people being affected by Zuko still having contact with Azula: Zuko and Azula themselves. She has no political power anymore, she can’t fight the whole world by herself (and trying to do so could lead to Aang taking away her bending), and she is in a fragile mental state, meaning she is completely dependent on Zuko since he is the family member taking care of her. She isn’t a treat to anyone around her anymore, so their opinion on the matter doesn’t mean shit. Which leads us to:

“Wouldn’t it be better for Zuko if he cut her out of his life?” In my interpretation of Zuko, no. He thought that he had no choice but to his sister enemy forever, or until one of them died (possibly by the other’s hand), but the Agni Kai changed everything for him. On that moment, he saw that this rivalry Ozai forced upon them hurt her just as badly as it hurt him. He saw how Azula destroyed herself to gain Ozai’s approval, and he saw himself in her, because that would have also been his fate if he had not been banished and found people who cared for him and taught him to be better. He loved Azula when they were little, and wishes things had been different. And now he knows that things can still be salvaged between them. He made horrible mistakes too, but he managed to turn things around, so it makes sense that he would want to give Azula as many chances as she needed to become a better person - just like Iroh did to him. Giving up on his “evil” sister, would be giving up on the family they once were, and on the family that he now knows for a fact that they could still be.

“Would this radical decision from Zuko “teach her a lesson” and make her change for the better?” OF COURSE NOT! Why would it? Not only did every adult in Azula’s life fail to protect and guide her, the one defense mechanism she was taught by Ozai was to always find a way to be above everyone else, which meant she couldn’t truly connect with her friends and her brother. Azula ended up becoming such a cold and even cruel character because all she ever knew was isolation. Zuko turning his back on her would just confirm her fears that is fundamentally broken and can never change, meaning she wouldn’t even try because what would be the point? Zuko changed because he always Iroh by his side, even after his betrayal - the most he ever did was give him the cold shoulder for a few episodes, then he went right back to helping him, going as far as to tell him about Sozin and Roku. No one can change if they don’t have someone to help them see what they did wrong, why it was wrong, how to do better, and to support them, even on their bad days and relapses. Especially on their bad days and relapses. Zuko knows that better than anyone, so once he decided he wanted to help Azula, he would keep on showing her that he believed in her, even when he got frustrated, sad or angry.

“Until she starts trying to act better” I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming you mean that she should act like the best version of herself while still being a complex, flawed human being, like Zuko did, instead of becoming a hollow, empty shell (like Zuko was trying to be in his false redemption in Ba Sing Se, where he went from trying to be whatever Ozai expected of him to trying to be whatever Iroh expected of him, which wasn’t healthy at all). Should Azula try to be better? Obviously, but remember: she is a literal child-soldier who was taught that she doesn’t have to be kind or even see other’s as humans at all. “But so was Zuko!” some people will say, completely forgeting that Zuko spent three years away from Ozai, getting advice from Iroh, and he still was a complete disaster of a person until the second half of book three. Zuko spent 5/6 of the show failing to be better, yet the fandom as a whole loves him. Why is Azula expected to just magically heal when Zuko spent literal years refusing to cooperate? Why does the same fandom that sees Iroh’s attempts to save his nephew from himself as something noble, see Zuko’s attempt to do the same for his 14 year old sister as completely incomprehensible?

[lilyharvord]

The Chain (Part 1)

I’ve got two words for you all: Time Travel. Main concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything. Stupidity ensues. Enjoy everyone. @redqueenetwork (this is what I mentioned to ya’ll in the chat, it’s finally here!!!) If you want a tag let me know. I don’t even know who is in the fandom anymore. 

“Don’t back her into the corner, whatever you do. We still don’t know what she’s capable of.” I hiss into my receiver as I sprint down another tight alleyway with Ella close on my tail. My hair sticks to my face as raindrops roll down my nose, and thunder rolls overhead. I swipe my hand across my forehead to push the annoying strands out of my face as we go. Behind me, Ella puffs out an annoyed sigh.

“She helped blow up a building Mare, I think we have a pretty decent idea of what she can do.” She admonishes as we round the corner, following Kilorn’s quickly relayed instructions from a moment ago. Ella and I had originally gone after the accomplice but after he hoped a fence and vanished into thin air, we had realized our mistake. He was a fucking teleporter, and therefore the perfect goose for our wild goose chase. We should have guessed something like this would happen. We needed the girl more than anything now. Sometimes I really hated being called into things like this. 

“Ella has a point.” 

“Agree with her one more time, Cal. I dare you.” I grumble into the receiver, pissed he is even chiming in. “Shouldn’t you be more focused on following our suspect and getting her to a place where we can make an arrest?”


“Trying.” Is his reply, followed by a burst of static from Kilorn probably messing with his receiver again. I reach up and bat at the piece in my ear, grinding my jaw against the sound. I could always just short the thing, but that wouldn’t really help with my frustration. It was my fault we lost the teleporter. I’d let him get too far ahead of me instead of just trying to incapacitate him. The last thing I wanted to do was cook him by mistake though. We wouldn’t get any information from a dead body. We needed that information if we wanted these bombings, and other things like them to stop though. 

We rounded the corner and I almost slammed into Kilorn’s back. He manages to dance out of my way. HIs expression is drawn tight, as he puts his arm out to stop Ella. With a quick gesture to the alley beyond the corner he says, “Cal is trying to talk her down.”

I push his arm out of my way and say, “No one engages Ardents alone, it’s a rule.” 

“She’s a kid Mare, they tend to respond to him better.” He says with a shrug, making me shake my head. If there is one thing Cal is still incredibly good at, it’s being a royal pain in my ass. He shouldn’t face anyone alone. Tyton had learned that the hard way when a young Ardent had put him in intensive care for three days. The last thing I need is Cal getting his leg broken because a kid hears what he has to say and doesn’t like it. My mother will never forgive him if he so much as has a bruise going into our wedding planning. Not that that was happening anytime soon, not now with the information I have tucked away to share tonight. I step around my best friend, who only passively tries to stop me. He knows that’s futile and steps back to stand with Ella as I slide around the corner.

My skin barks in protest as a wave of heat rolls over my skin. I hold my hand up to cover my eyes from the flames that circle Cal and the girl who has her back pressed up against the wall. She glares at him, her palms pressed to the brick and stone. I reach a hand out for the flames, knowing Cal will sense the shift in the flames distribution. Sure enough, the flames die in a small me-sized hole, giving me a chance to slip through them. They kiss the edges of my jacket and burn away the rain there.  

As soon as I enter the makeshift ring, the girl’s eyes fly to me over Cal’s shoulder. I know a cornered animal when I see one. She reminds me of myself too, which screams trouble. She’ll do anything to get out of that corner. Talking her down might not be an option, but we have a duty to her to at least try. Forcing my hands to remain at my sides I say, “We want to help.” 

“The last thing I need is your help.” She spit with a sneer and a raised chin. Definitely red, I realize in the light of the fire. She’s either an Ardent or a Red. I’m praying for a Red, they are far easier to apprehend and deal with during interrogation. 

The girl takes a step off the wall and holds a hand up in threat. Immediately my own hands light up with sparks, and Cal takes a step back to give me a clearer shot. The flames around us die as he channels that fire to a more useful source. Hopefully Ella senses the shift in the air and joins us to apprehend this kid. She can’t be older than sixteen, but that just makes her that much more dangerous. Younger Ardents were untapped fonts of power. 

The shadows from the early morning cut into the alley, and my lightning bathes us all in a deep purples glow. The dark shadows under the girl’s eyes are like bruises in this light. Her ragged breathing turns her into a woman possessed though. I try to dim my electricity, to prevent her from acting too brashly. She doesn’t take the hint, and instead takes another step closer to us. The air around us condenses until my ears pop painfully. 

I cry out at the sensation, almost dropping to a knee, and press my hands to my ears. Next to me, Cal pushes himself in front of me, using his own body to shield mine. I wish he would stop doing that, but no amount of arguing is going to change instinct, I’ve figured that out. Four years is a long time to spend with someone. You knew the intricacies of everything. In fact, if this still goes to plan, I can name exactly what he will want for breakfast after, down to how many cups of coffee he will need to stay awake for the rest of the day. 

A wicked wind snaps at me, ripping strands of hair out of my braid and extinguishing Cal’s flames completely. His hand on my shoulder is both a question and an order. If I’m incapable of standing, I need to get out of his way. If I’m capable, then I need to stand and help him. His voice carries even with the hurricane building around us, and he speaks to her like she hasn’t already made herself a danger to us. “Giselle, at least listen.” 

I have no idea how he got her name, but I file it away for later as I look up. She laughs at his attempt to negotiate, and brings her other hand away from her body, palm side up. The wind whips her auburn hair into a frenzy, but she does nothing to tame it. She should do what’s best for herself and listen. If she blatantly attacks us, her punishment will be more severe than blowing up an abandoned building. 

I grab onto Cal’s sleeve, as the wind tears at me as well. If I could just get a well-placed shot off, then I could disable her. Bringing my hand up, fingers spread, I take careful aim for the space right below her heart. Her eyes fly in my direction, and her lips fall into a tight line. “Don’t make me do it.” 

“Whatever you plan, you won’t be as fast as me,” I assure her, trying to rise to my feet completely. She shakes her head, her eyes growing just a hint wider as she states, “I can’t stop it now.” 

My stomach plummets, and my blood runs cold. What has she done? Is there another bomb? Is she about to set another one off somewhere else in the city? Somewhere that might actually be populated? 

“Whatever it is, we can stop it, if you just stand down.” Cal argues, keeping a tight hand on my arm, while his other arm tries to shield his eyes from the debris in the alley that the wind kicks up. Giselle shakes her head one more time, before looking down at her hands. Her entire body begins shaking, and with a smirk she says, “I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not even sure where you’ll land.” 

My brows fly up into my hairline, and I grab Cal to pull him out of the way as she holds her hands out again. A body blow sends us flying backwards though, and through a wall. 

Immediately, my body goes into free-fall, and instinct kicks in as I try to flip myself over. There’s nothing but a wash of color around me though, and I end up tumbling in circles, simply trying to keep myself in one position. 

My hands seek purchase, and I manage to grasp Cal’s jacket again. His hand latches onto mine and I try to pull myself closer to him. I’m gasping for air though, unable to breathe. It feels like I’m being squished through a pipe the size of my pinkie, like how it used to feel when Shade teleported me. I wish I had opened my eyes during those times, maybe I would have seen the same wash of colors. Those trips always took a heartbeat though; this is taking seconds. I had never seen an Ardent that could teleport people and not themselves. Were Ardents evolving again? Julian said it was a possibility, but it should have taken hundreds of years, just like it had taken that long for us to appear in the first place. 

“Don’t let go,” I managed to gasp to Cal, as he tries to wrap an arm around my hips. I grip the front of his jacket with two hands, terrified of what will happen if I lose him in this tunnel. His answer is to squeeze me tightly to him. 

I press my face into his shoulder trying to inhale the scent he always carries with him. He smells more like the lake in Monfort now, probably because he keeps wearing this jacket when he walks around the lake with Kilorn. He should know better. It reeks of moist lake water. 

I glance over his shoulder only for something to catch my shoulder. I try to scream an alarm as my fingers release Cal, and I go spinning off to the side. My vision is limited but I still see him go limp from whatever hit he took. I scramble to grab at him, my fingers managing to catch his sleeve before we both collide with the side of the tunnel. 

It is like passing through a window, with multicolored glass shards explode around us. I spiral into darkness then, losing my weak grip on Cal completely. My chest heaves for air, and I try to force myself to be as loose as possible in case I end up hitting the ground. It’s a pointless exercise, any hit will kill me at this point. The pressure around me changes again, making me ears pop once more. Only a heartbeat later, I slam into something else, and finally fall unconscious.

[ecotone99]

[SF] Matilda and the Questionable Queen

[ XXX ]

It had been one long-ass battle after another: Matilda literally couldn’t stand up anymore from the trauma lacing her spine: inducing early onset Degenerative Disc Disease on her lumbar and collar bones. She wore her stupid Pocahontas ruffles even in her dreams: stuck a mascot of those victims enslaved and murdered for this Nation. She would always laugh at these weird props and situations meant to keep her hashtag humble: the gloves and the milk she could smell falling from her own chest somehow.

Matilda had no qualms with her ruffled collar, but had grown exhausted from the spike textured gloves strapped to the backside of her palms: another curse from Hera: acted out by Carmen. It were the same self-disgust she felt as a young girl: shamed for having kissed a boy she were once tethered to named Chucky. Matilda would panic naked in every shower even today: remembering Carmen and her shrill voice calling her disgusting. Her pale, scaly arm slowly reaching in and checking that the water could fully sanitize her whoredom. She were one of the witches that they had once campaigned to murder in Salem in a past life: the same villain in every story somehow.

She’d hold her tongue as she leaned over looking at their progress: dawning her frilled collar after her first incarnation: an Indigenous Warrior named Matoaka: a cursed name known only now as Pocahontas. It reminded her it were time to fuck some shit uppp: and that she had returned from the stars to help her friends while she gained her wings. She had been there to support Kness when his mother "Jake" who had been struggling with lyme disease: meeting a somber and lost Kness soon after her passing. He were lost with his siblings: Jada, and Cynths: left choosing between bottle and a mirror. She had also been an interesting and frustrating distraction to Harper: when his elder sister were battling sickness, his boundaries set specifically to keep her out of the loop. Matilda hadn't wished herself on these planes of existence: she had been summoned in their dreams: exiting because of one: dying inside because of the other. Never allowed to state an answer to either: left in limbo alone. She no longer believed in romance because of these two tall men: still managing to care deeply somehow as she still blushed if she had to look at them.

Such lunacy warranted a cot in the mad house: so Matilda went on her way without overthinking why this one individual bothered her so much. Surrounded by love and support: finally safe from the grasp of the woman who used to try and rip off her face. She were along the lines of the cunning and unpredictable evils she often avoided deep in the dark webs of her Golden Apple. Carmen were not to be trusted in the exact respects to how Matilda felt aboot the Questionable Queen in the East: her families rule dubious in sexual proclivities and violence. Finally Matilda had decided on a name for this queen that fit her old wrinkled face: a name given on a random whim: Queen Cersei. Matilda needn’t bash this old queen and her family since they did equally fucked up things: on ever timeline. Instead she cursed her readers blind if they ever chose to unsee it as she had commanded: watching the growing proof she had ordered the execution of the Princess of Wales the over-romanticized marriage to her own cousin. The queen forever de-crowned only by vanity somehow.

Matilda had only found the old queen after she had seen her worm and minion: a beast with no face: Benedict XVI. He had came out of his slimy hole after his predecessor out shined him with his take on the future: mad the new wizard had allowed them to be written in Matilda's permanent ink admitting themselves child molesters. Such slimy sons of bitches thinking they were slick locking her in a catacomb of static. Only remembering when she caught them trading posts: hypnotizing the people of the world with their magic Golden Rod. Matilda couldn’t wait to break that shit: or shove it up their butts. She hadn’t quite decided somehow.

Matilda were tired of the rape and pillaging over all this nonsense: no options other than to rip her spirit from her body until she could prove she were ready to elevate all those around her. Instead of always running from the Queen Cersei through space and time: Matilda hid her Indigenous Warriors in a dimension where they were safe. She put her wounded family in Tipis that were always half-full and a warm chant that kept them alive: A. She hid her Dupree standing in plain sight with his arms held up as he bore the weight of the world on his back kneeling from an injured shin: Y. Lastly she hid her Viking in his beloved lost culture: V. She were already: I and O. Sitting there in plain sight for all of times: mocking all those who dared wear the headdress that represented such an intellectual Nation built of alchemists. She knew her fellow criminals and occasional fuck ups would remember her smile the more time passed on: making them repent in their lives over and over again with sickness of disability or crime: according to their previous lives as traitor(s) overthrowing her rule. Sitting in plain sight as both a criminal and disabled individual who vaguely remembered being overthrown as ruler and had to turn a Golden Apple inside out in order to remake a Kness and find a Viking. Mad she were still unarmed, creating code in hidden in alphabets that she made forever ago: naked and chained to a wall...drifting through space somehow.

Matilda had flipped an apple inside out by blowing yo minds. Boom. That’s how you debate. Either way she were still stuck forever having caught ya’ll up on the deets of whatever shit is aboot to go down. Endgame style. She had lifted a veil of confusion for herself as watched as others looked for her finally in words and symbols everywhere, a Greenman walking in a tech filled world. Matilda knew her only job was to kill some beasts whenever she got a command from tech support. Her job was only to confess her sins in away that reflected the gracefulness of the last name Brooks, and hope that all those around her would finally love their children. Seeing that they were people too, and know that they needed help by others who weren’t their parents. Orphans just like Matilda: sad that the world left them behind as children somehow.

Matilda had no solution or series build up of a grandeur epic battle showdown. She did not believe in drawn out characters and open plot holes created to beat a dead horse for profit. Instead she memorialized her friends in a book: trusting their judgement in people as they had decided in their previous lives: hidden in plain sight. Instead she dedicated this book to her birth mother: A woman named Melissa Brooks: a beautiful, tragically fallen Indigenous Warrior. No words can say moments lost by anger, and so Matilda wrote her a book: in her sadness wondering why she had been abandoned. It was not her right to ask her how she had came to be so broken: but only drink her tears from a magic vase if it meant she understood privilege. Matilda had use this manuscript to weep her tears and refill her vase: mending it with her joy. She were finally a woman strong enough to understand that sometimes awful things happen, and that she had to work extra hard to differentiate what was right and wrong with the aid of her friends. Matilda was finally free to be a person of situation: no longer a victim to circumstances, finally gentle enough to say she were sorry for all the damage she had done. She would tuck away the vase left by Melissa for another winter: her tears still needed but no longer burdening. She would thank her elders for their efforts providing her clean water and air and continue to try and save their children from the epidemic of youth suicide, finally ready to let go of her past. She had wrote this as her dreams erupted when a scholar from Marysville had taken the lives of his peers: despite the fact he we an angel on Earth. The Indigenous Warrior had fell sick to the ways of Western culture, and Matilda now only worried aboot the rest of her scholars. She would have dreams walking up to him: begging him to put the gun down or point it at her in a crowded cafeteria. She would return telling him stories to calm his demons, always to the same result. She would say softly: this isn’t who we are fam, finally truly sorry that the statistics and facts only proved him right. Clamoring with her sweaty hands: annoyed she could still feel her gloves i her dreams. She were always unarmed or forfeiting her weapon. Other students were now in danger: scared he were no longer an Indigenous Warrior she could resurrect if he spilled blood. It would take almost three days and no sleep to write down the entirety of the story she once told him in his murderous rage dreaming: preparing to earn the title of privilege of life-taker like all the other dead-eyed savages. Matilda would now only reflect on that dream that became reality: shooketh to the core by how fucking awful this story panned out. Ending it all with a simple warning for her peoples: to never partake in human flesh, human waste, or bloodshed. She had broken the loop by finding her lost scholar and naming him after his once kind and gentle heart: Jaylen. Finally executing her mission by whispering: the last curses in the manuscript that had once started this all: Eureka.

submitted by /u/spacecaptainbrooks03 [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2IM7wws

[realityofrealism-blog]

Brush Strokes of Pain and Love

Did you think I was your "How to be a Man” guide?

 The way that I've proven to be for so many men before you.

 The one that would come into your life and show you what to love about yourself. The one that would show you what it means to accept the parts about yourself that aren't perfect that add to your character, and to change the parts that are harmful to your own well being and the people around you.

Because I did show you these things, and that I've taken pride in... but with that pride, now also comes slight resentment since you’ve cut me out of your life.

This is where I feel conflicted... because when you love someone, you're supposed to do so outside of your own needs and wants... but is that philosophy actually one of loving someone and being in love with them? Or does it just mean that you have a love FOR someone?

 There’s a fine line.

 [Fuck. Maybe I'm just as confused during this period as you claim to be... Maybe it's been awhile since I took an introspective view on myself, and how my emotions influence my views on what i deserve. Supposedly we accept the love we think we deserve. Do I deserve this though? Do I deserve to keep investing my time and emotions into people that don’t return that effort?   I used to feel like a badass bitch that was motivated with goals... now I honestly just feel like a straight bitch half of the time, lacking the badass qualities I once possessed. I feel jaded, and bitter because of it; I hate that I feel this way. I (subconsciously) carried all the dead weight in this relationship, which took my focus away from the things that I loved to do… which ironically probably made me less desirable for you. What a fucking joke.]

 I'm more than just a mirror that reflects the most realist version of you. You, just like so many other men, play it cool. You have this easy going facade up to fool everyone around you. But the people that actually know you, see beneath the surface.

 I see beneath the distracting glare of your glossy surface.

 I didn't just see beneath the surface... I scratched it... revealing underlying demons that needed to be dealt with. I excavated your soul. I bet that scares the shit out of you. Honestly, it scares the shit out of me too. It all scares me, because you picked scabs of mine that never fully healed... leaving me alone with deeper emotional scars than what I had before. I’m now left with thoughts like: how could you do this to me? Letting me think that I could trust this part of myself in your hands, just for you to abandon me? I lent you strength to approach the skeletons in your closet, and you left before ever returning that strength to me to deal with my own issues. We could’ve grown together. Why are you okay with seeing me this way? I’m a fucking wreck… will I be the artist that created this “new and improved” painting of you, that won’t get recognition for all the grueling late nights, blood, sweat, and mostly tears that were spent together? I was there too, you know. I put in the time too. Did I just make you really great for someone else, at my expense? Is this where I send you an invoice for my time and investment? [I’m obviously joking with that last question; don’t mind me. Just trying to keep my sanity here, people!!!!! Okay, back to the heavy.]

 I knew you.

 Or I suppose I thought that I did, though lately you've been full of surprises. Surprises that leave me both confused and disabled all at once. How did something that felt so right and natural go so wrong somewhere along the line? Maybe that's part of my issue? My inability to accept the way that things are between us right now. I met you and genuinely felt like I had met my best friend; my soul mate. Everything just fit together effortlessly to make this puzzle picture of this beautiful image I had dreamt up in my head.

 [I suppose it was also my mistake to build a vision based off teasers that you fed my imagination about our possible future together. Another question… how was I supposed to know how confused you were, when you seemed so sure about me? Remove everyone from the group discussion that is “us”, and just leave you and me. From what you have told ME, how am I supposed to think?]

 I saw into the deepest, darkest, untouched corners of your soul... and I made myself at home, offering my time and help to unpack your baggage WITH YOU. I suppose that was my mistake, huh? To make myself too available to you...I mean, where was the fun in that for you? Where was the challenge? Once you knew you had me wrapped around your finger, why continue to try… right? It's not your fault I got attached and allowed myself to be a fool for you. Maybe "fool" isn’t the right word... you didn't intentionally fool me... but I definitely made myself oblivious to the extent of where you were (are... you're not dead... just no longer an active part of my life.) in your journey, and what that would mean for you... for us... and in turn me...

 [To my dismay, you're one of the most genuine, honest people I've ever encountered in my life... which has been not only a blessing to my life and shown me how amazing love can feel, but also a burden to my heart now that I've lost you to the black abyss that is known as the "unforeseeable future". How do you un-taste the sweetest of fruit that fed your soul? I can’t ask myself this question without also begging the question of “How do you un-taste the most sour of fruit that left a scowl on your face?” ]

 But I also need to take my “graduation goggles” off and be honest with myself… I love(d) you fiercely. With my words and my actions. I made a point to make sure a day never went by without you knowing how much I loved you, and I chose to do so even when it wasn’t being reciprocated. It was my choice to stay and ride it out. This doesn’t pardon you for your actions, but I do share the burden of where this relationship failed.

 I don’t hate you- as much as I fucking wish I could, because I know that none of your actions were done with malicious intent (Even though, ghosting my ass was super uncool. Hopefully one day we can clear the air regarding that because, my heart, ego, and trust took a pretty big hit from that.)... but if I’m being real with you right now, I’m pretty upset with you [but still love you deeply]. You still have my a huge chunk of my heart, which is partially why the hurt runs so deep.

 Bone shakingly deep.

 If you were to call me and say that you needed me, I would still drop everything and be there for you. Even after everything is all said and done. And that’s honest.. And probably not healthy. hah.I can’t just sit here on this plane and pretend to myself or anyone else that I wouldn’t.  

 As much as we may think our curious minds may be up to the task of trying to understand emotions, we’re not always. Some things are out of your control and you can only control how you respond to the circumstances that find you. Shitty. I know. Trust me, I’m definitely not happy about it either...

 Suspended in air and time.

 Flying is such a beautiful thing. There's something romantic about the idea of soaring above everything and stopping time almost. Whenever I fly anywhere, it's like time freezes. Maybe that's why flights can be so emotional? Because for even those few hours, you're floating above all of the commotion and distractions, and for those moments that you’re suspended in the air, you can't run from the way you feel. I'm writing this right now as I'm on a plane ride home from LA, and had to take a break to allow myself to cry. Shit's intense, and luckily I'm on this flight that is only half full. Hah. I’ve gotten really good at crying in public. In the past 6 weeks it’s kinda become my thing.

 The moral here, after all this drawn out writing and me trying to purge myself of all my anger, hurt, frustration, and ultimately love IS: I was fine before you. I’m currently not… but I know that I will be again. You may never re-enter my life, but then again you might. Either way, I need to move on. And I’m making my peace with that.

Now listen to this song.