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sheps-shepherd · 4 years ago

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Title: Dizzying Dynamics

Pairing: Mikleo/Sorey; Mikleo & Sorey

Rating: T (for non-graphic mentions of death/dying)

Written for SorMik Week 2020 Day 1: Waxing Crescent - Declaration; Commitment / Rigel - Benevolence; Happiness

*Reposted because Tumblr messed up my formatting so badly I just decided to redo it all.

A/N: This is my first time doing any kind of fandom week in three years so of course all the plans I had for it fell through, hence why this is being posted at the very last minute of the first day. I'm not the happiest with how this came out but it's fluffy and what more can any of us ask for.

All of my works for SorMik Week 2020 will take place in this same AU, which has its own story that I wanted to post before these and still haven't finished. It's a BBC Merlin AU, and all you really need to know is this: magic is banned in this world, Mikleo was born with magic, and Sorey is the sunshine prince we all love and deserve. Other necessary world-building happens within each work itself.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

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Mikleo was getting used to life in Camlann. Slowly but surely.

When his mother had first told him about the arrangements she’d made for him to come live in the capitol, he’d expected to spend a majority of his time with the grandfather he barely remembered in the medical wing of the castle, studying the basics of being a physician by day and honing his magic under the cover of night. He’d expected to spend his days reading, picking herbs, and learning how to properly make various medicines and remedies. Which was okay with him; Mikleo liked to learn, and these types of things were good to learn, and when he went home to Elysia maybe he could put it to use and be more than just the quiet village boy with the magical secret he couldn’t tell anybody.

As it turned out, living in Camlann was nothing like that. Mikleo honestly should have known better, especially when he ended his first week by saving the crown prince’s life and agreeing to take up the mantle as his manservant.

“Which is a completely glorified title, by the way,” Sorey had told him, on his first official day with his new title, when Sorey had come to get him before he could start worrying about what he was meant to do. “All the things you’re technically supposed to be doing, I’m capable of doing myself. And I don’t mind doing them either. That’s why I always told Arthur I never needed one.”

“What am I supposed to be doing then?” Mikleo had asked, and Sorey had smiled at him like that was the funniest question he’d ever been asked.

“Stopping wannabe assassins from killing me, apparently,” he’d responded, in a tone that was definitely way too bright and cheerful for the words they’d been paired with. Mikleo had found out right then and there - Sorey Collbrande-Crowe was fearlessly and unapologetically optimistic.

If Mikleo was being honest, it was rather refreshing to be around someone like that.

He spent most of his time with Sorey after that first week. When Sorey was in meetings or off wherever his princely duties took him, Mikleo was out doing all the things he originally expected to be doing. The times in between were spent wandering the castle and getting into absolutely everything they could find.

They spread out maps across the large table in the drawing room. They snuck cooling pies off the windowsills in the kitchens. They read all kinds of things in the library: history books to fables and fairytales to preserved journals. But Mikleo’s favorite times were the nights they holed up in Sorey’s room, with books or treats or stories to share.

Despite the odd circumstances that got them to this point, they became friends. Genuine friends. The prince-and-technically-servant dynamic didn’t exist.

But the prince-and-secret-sorcerer one certainly did. To Mikleo, at least. The magic in his blood always seemed harder to ignore whenever he was in Sorey’s presence, a glaring reminder of the impassable space that stretched between them.

He was lying next to Sorey in the prince’s bed, propped up on pillows with one of the larger history books opened between them, his arm pressed warmly against Sorey’s when the thought hit him - that maybe he was in way too deep, and it had only been a few months.

Sorey was still the crown prince. Artorius was still his father who hated all things magic. Mikleo had long since given up his avoid the royal family at all costs plan, but falling asleep in the prince’s bed was definitely too far. Risky things like that would put him on the king’s radar, and if Artorius found out- If Sorey found out-

But we’re already here, Mikleo considered, one afternoon spent watching Sorey scribble away, annotating tomes in the library. This will just be where we stop. No farther. No problems. There was no reason he and Sorey couldn’t be friends; Mikleo just had to tread a little more carefully moving forward. Simple. Even his magic seemed satisfied with that plan, glowing in his chest when Sorey peeked up from his work and smiled at him, and Mikleo smiled back.

And then the second assassination attempt had happened. And Mikleo had saved Sorey again. And then Sorey had saved Mikleo. And Mikleo spent the days recovering from being poisoned by staring up at his bedroom ceiling and wondering how the hell he ended up here.

Some destiny this turned out to be.

“Hello? Anybody home in there?”

Mikleo blinked his reverie away, turning his head to see Sorey standing there, dressed to the nines in his street clothes, head cocked with a curious look on his face. He beamed when Mikleo focused in on him.

“There you are! You spaced out on me.”

“Oh.” Mikleo gave his head a shake, as if clearing the last of the thoughts away. “Sorry about that.”

“Go somewhere good?” Sorey asked, nudging Mikleo over a step so they were back on the cobblestone road. Mikleo hadn’t even noticed he’d pulled them off. “Or is this a side effect of poison recovery that you didn’t tell me about?”

“Sorey, I’m fine. Just a little tired. Stop blaming everything on my recovery.”

“Just checking,” Sorey sang before taking a bite out of his apple - which him grabbing from the kitchen as they left had sparked their usual argument of: “That’s not breakfast.” “It totally counts as breakfast.”

Sorey was impossible, in the most endearing way.

“But,” the prince continued after swallowing his bite, “if you are fine, that means you shouldn’t have any problem making good on our deal today. Sure you don’t want to change your answer?”

Mikleo rolled his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do with your day then talk about poison?”

“Nope!” Sorey grinned around another crunch of his apple. “Already checked with Arthur. He actually thinks it’s a great idea that I do some research about this kind of stuff.”

“It is a good idea,” Mikleo agreed. “You were bound to have one sooner or later.”

“You wound me, Mikleo.” Sorey clutched at his shirt, and Mikleo rolled his eyes again at his dramatics.

Impossibly endearing. And maybe the slightest bit mortifying, too.

“I’d guess most people wouldn’t be so excited to research different kinds of poisons,” Mikleo mused as they stepped off the castle road and headed into the Lower Town. They fell in step beside each other, their arms brushing as they walked, assuring they didn’t lose each other in the morning rush of townspeople. “A bit morbid, don’t you think?”

Sorey shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not like most people.” He gave Mikleo a cheeky grin. “What’s your excuse, huh?”

I’m not like most people, either.

“Gramps doesn’t like to leave things half-done,” Mikleo said aloud. “It’s something I need to know as a physician.”

“But shouldn’t it be something I need to know as the you-know-what? Why isn’t that something Arthur had me studying already?”

“That’s what physicians are for.” Mikleo was quiet for a moment, then carefully bumped his shoulder against the other’s. “That’s what I’m for. I have to be doing something as your manservant.”

Sorey chuckled, but the light in his eyes was dimmed as he looked over. “I know,” he said softly, and Mikleo could just barely hear him over the dull roar of people. “But you got hurt because I didn’t know better, and I’m not okay with that.”

“Sorey, you saved me-“

“You wouldn’t have needed saving if I had known in the first place.”

“You are not the reason I was poisoned,” Mikleo insisted. “The maid who put the poison in your drink is the reason.” He crossed his arms. “And again, you saved me by going out and getting what Gramps needed to make the antidote. So we’re both still here and we’re both fine. We’re even.”

“Are not.” Sorey chewed another bite of apple. “We’re two-to-one. Or have you forgotten about saving my life when we first met?”

Mikleo rolled his eyes again, but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course not.” But as far as Mikleo was concerned, that was a debt Sorey had already paid back in full.

He didn’t admit it out loud, but Sorey must have read something in his expression, because he smiled and gave Mikleo a nudge of his own.

“Guess we’re just gonna have to keep saving each other and see where we end up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mikleo murmured. “I guess so.”

Sorey suddenly wrapped his arm around Mikleo’s shoulders and tugged him into his side. He blinked as he found himself pressed against the prince’s chest, his hand coming up to steady himself so he wouldn’t completely crash into the other. His hand landed at the center of Sorey’s chest, right where he had grasped it a moment ago.

He tipped his head back, knowing his face was probably bright red but also ready to demand just what Sorey thought he was doing. Then the group of children came hurtling by, practically trampling over one another as they raced down the cobble, calling out hello’s to Sorey as they ran along.

“Be careful, guys!” Sorey called back. “Watch where you’re going! Don’t run anybody over, I can’t save ‘em all!”

The children laughed but didn’t show any signs of slowing down. The little boy bringing up the rear of the group bounded past them.

“I got them, Sorey!” he exclaimed. “Don’t worry!”

“Thanks, Videl. I’m counting on you.” Sorey tossed his half-eaten apple at the boy, who caught it gleefully. “Say hi to your mom for me, yeah?”

“Okay! Bye, Sorey!” Videl took a large bite of the apple and turned around to chase after his friends.

It wasn’t until Sorey was pulling away that Mikleo realized he hadn’t even thought about trying to pull away himself, which he certainly could have done once the crowd of children had passed. The realization made his face grow even warmer. Sorey’s hand staying between his shoulder blades definitely didn’t help.

“You good?” Sorey asked, taking a half-step forward to see Mikleo’s face. “Still have all your toes?”

“Ah.” Mikleo cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

Sorey studied him thoughtfully. The sun was behind him in the sky, silhouetting his messy hair and casting odd shadows across his face, but Mikleo could make out smears of pink across the apples of his cheeks from the heat. He hoped Sorey chalked the redness on his own face up to that, and not to poison recovery or other things.

The beaming grin that broke out across Sorey’s face surprised him. But really, he shouldn’t have expected otherwise.

“I believe that evens our score then,” the prince chirped. “Two for you and two for me.”

“Evens our-?” Mikleo sputtered petulantly. “You did not save my life from a group of children.”

“And have you ever been bowled over by a bunch of kids on the run before? Because trust me, Mikleo, it is not fun.”

“Why am I not surprised you got yourself into something like that?”

“Hey, be nice about it! I had bruises for weeks!”

They bickered back and forth as they headed down the road again, continuing their walk through the town. There were no more clusters of rambunctious children trying to barrel through them, but Sorey still kept his hand on Mikleo’s upper back, fingers hooked comfortably around his shoulder. And Mikleo let him, telling himself it was because their playful banter was distracting him and nothing more. The magic fizzling beneath his skin made sure to let him know he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Living in Camlann was absolutely nothing like Mikleo had expected it to be.

But he was in way too deep to do anything about it now, so he might as well enjoy it.

#talesoffanfic #sormikweek2020 #sormik #sorey #mikleo #merlin au

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the-unofficial-force · 7 years ago

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@dcntcommitsuicide asked: 12. What’s the meaning behind your muse’s url?

Another RP Questions For The Mun (always accepting)

Here it is on another post because I am extra and ramble far too much. So here’s an essay on what all the URLs for my sideblogs (and for this blog!) mean, for anybody who was curious:

the-unofficial-force - So this is going to take some explaining... Basically, all of the muses here (my OCs, anyways) are/were from a fanfic universe/series I was planning on writing back in like 2011-2012 when I was in middle school (I might still do this if people want me to and if I ever have time, but, this is fine for now. Also good gravy I just realized how long I’ve been in BBC Sherlock hell... I’m old...). The original idea was that all of the muses here know each other, are friends with each other, and sometimes get involved in their parents’ business in between dealing with their own lives and stuff. Because I wanted to justify this by hearkening back to the original books, I called these doofs “The Baker Street Irregulars”. Therefore, when it came time to pick a URL, I figured the quote where Holmes first coins the term, “it is the unofficial force... the Baker Street Irregulars” would be a good pick.

The rest are under the cut because this got so long and you probably only wanted this URL... I am so, so sorry.

elijahseditorials - Eli’s a writer and his blog is from his perspective/a good deal more personal than some of the others because of how emotional he is. Editorials, of course, are personal thoughts on the world and the people around the writer. Hence, the blog is kind of like Elijah’s editorials. (I had a hard time with this one, so it’s not the best of reasons!)

the-domin-ator - Dom’s a funny guy but kind of innocent (despite being a little shit) and loves puns, and he’s also a rock star/musician type. When I first started out/in the fanfic verse I mentioned above, I set his age as a young teenager with somewhat misplaced/odd rock ‘n’ roll sensibilities, so, I figured he’d try to make up a really, really stupid badass stage name for himself and use it totally unironically, hence “The Dominator”.

singingsoftlytothedawn - Will’s an actor and really into musical theatre, and I felt like “Corner of the Sky” from Pippin (which is also one of his nicknames) fit him and his attitude rather nicely. The specific lyric is, “So don’t ask where I’m going/Just listen when I’m gone/And far away you’ll hear me singing/Softly to the dawn”.

stvitusdancer - Okay, so the St. Vitus’ Dance was what a lot of people called this outbreak of dancing mania/dancing plague throughout the 14th, 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries (I’m a huge medieval and history buff, so...) where people literally danced until they died. St. Vitus is the patron saint of dancers and entertainers, but there’s this huge macabre history surrounding him because of that. Penny loves any and all things morbid and dark (eventually becoming a detective like her uncle Sherlock), but remains completely well-adjusted, pleasant, and happy. She’s also a ballerina and loves to dance, so I figured St. Vitus would fit a dancer who loved dark and creepy stuff.

theotherdilestrade - This one is pretty self-explanatory. Isabel, like her dad, goes into police work at New Scotland Yard and becomes a DI. So I figure there would be a lot of confusion between having two DIs with the same name, and Isabel would have to clarify who she is and how she’s not her father (if somebody expected to have her father consult on their case but got her instead, for example). The scenario I was imagining specifically was Isa and Greg eating lunch together or something and someone calling for DI Lestrade, and both of them turning around, Greg making motions to get up, and whoever called them would have to say, “no, not you, the other DI Lestrade”. Also the URL can sort of be read as Isabel trying to step out from her dad’s shadow while still being really close to him and honoring the work he does.

neverchangeanddontyoueverstop - So Sarah is still woefully underdeveloped and I need to fix that at some point, so I had no idea what to do with her URL. Thankfully, Fleetwood Mac’s song “Sara” has the line, “Sara/You’re the poet in my heart/Never change/And don’t you ever stop” which captures her attitude fairly well (she’s an optimist and has a very plucky outlook on life) so I just used that.

quis--custodiet and forged--in--fire - Ah yes, the cryptids of my blog. Sean and Daisy are a pair of siblings who may get scrapped at this point (but I love them so much...) but are important to everybody else here as they’re part of the fanfic verse I’ve been talking about. Quis custodiet is Latin for “who guards”, and it’s a take off on the phrase, Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?, or, literally translated, “Who will guard the guards themselves?”. I feel like that’s sort of a summation of Sean’s role in the team, as he’s often times the voice of reason and is very protective of all his friends. Daisy loves to do really cool metallurgy stuff (welding, soldering, smeltering, mechanics probably too, all that jazz), and really comes into her own by finding it/something she’s good at (it’s a big character moment for her), so, she was literally forged in fire.

rose--of-the--world - My unannounced, unofficially official Rosie Watson blog! This is just a translation of one of the meanings of “Rosamund”.

lets-investigate - So this is theoretically the home for my Holmes and Watson muses, but, I’m not on here as much as I ought to be. I probably should have made this its own main blog but I got lazy... this whole account is probably going to be going through some overhauling soon (nothing bad though!). “The Other Side of Life” by The Moody Blues always has given me really strong Sherlock Holmes vibes. Like, all of it, but specifically the lines, “The atmosphere on the streets tonight/Is the driving beat of the world/The word down here on the streets tonight/Is the truest music you’ve heard” but I couldn’t think of a good URL from that because all of it is so good. So, instead, I picked the chorus to pluck a URL from: “Baby, baby, baby, let’s investigate/The other side of life tonight/The lovers and the fighters and the risks they take/Are on the other side of life tonight”.

holmesthemeddler - This comes from one of my favorite exchanges in the ACD books, from The Speckled Band, when Roylott is trying to intimidate Holmes and Holmes just gleefully takes the (in my opinion) really silly insults: “I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes the meddler!... Holmes the busybody!... Holmes the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!” Also, he does meddle, a lot, and I think it’s a pretty good descriptor of his character.

goodoldwatson - Also from the ACD books, this is from His Last Bow: “Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.” I also thought it complimented “holmesthemeddler” nicely!

#ooc #dcntcommitsuicide #about me #about the mun #this turned out so L O N G #i'm so sorry!!#i tend to natter on a lot #but hopefully it was interesting? maybe?#long post #long post tw #tw: long post #thank you for asking though i really appreciate it!!

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cancerinscorpio · 7 years ago

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I wrote to my favorite advice column and this is what I said and she said.

Dear Polly,

I feel like a strange amalgam of various others who have written to you, but nevertheless, here I am. I’m 28, single, and dying from a cancer that is breaking my body and spirit down at an alarming rate. Obviously, so many things about this situation scare and sadden me. But the thing that consumes me most, day in and day out, is the fear and heartbreak of not having a partner there with me through the two or so years I have left or holding my hand when it’s finally time to go. Having been confronted by mortality at a young age, I feel I know more about myself than many 28-year-olds do, and one thing I know is that I am a relationship person. I was in one relationship from age 20 to 25, and another from age 25 to 26, and while neither were perfect, I felt whole and truly like myself in both of them. And it’s not just because I love the feeling of being loved (though obviously I do), but I truly love giving my love to someone else. It feels like the thing I was meant to do, and the reality that I may never have that again is devastating.

Despite the fact that my days are mostly spent in doctor’s offices or lying in bed (or, frequently, both), I do the whole Tinder thing occasionally just for a sense of normalcy and, yes, male attention. I’m okay with most of these dates being one- or two-time things. It’s a salve, sure, but it’s fun, it gets me out of the house, and no one owes each other anything, which means I feel no need to disclose the fact that I’m a ticking, tumor-ridden time bomb. But when I do come across a guy where there’s some real potential (as is the case right now), I find myself both weaving an intricate web of lies to keep things cool in the present and steeling myself for the eventual parting of ways when I either tell them who I really am or break things off before that even happens.

So my dilemma is this: How do I square my desire for a loving partner with my reality as it is? I want to believe there’s someone out there who I could not only open up to about my health but who would accept and love me in spite of it. But that feels like a fairy tale (FUCK YOU, FAULT IN OUR STARS etc.). And even if it’s not a fairy tale, and that guy materialized, I would be wracked with guilt at the idea of even asking someone to get pulled into this terrifying, morbid mess. So, Polly, do I keep chasing the fairy tale? Do I give up entirely? Is there some other alternative I’m missing? Or is the salve the best I’m going to get until things are so bad that I no longer have the physical strength for any of it?

Sincerely,

Dying Girls Need Loving Too, Right?

______________________________________________________________________

Dear DGNLTR,

I’m sure you don’t want to hear how sorry I am, but I am sorry. It’s still dark out, and I feel too small and stupid to offer you anything of value. I always tell people to just show up and be honest when people are in crisis (as opposed to trying to fix anything or unloading their big barrel of forcedly optimistic clichés on top of someone’s head). But just showing up and being honest feels inadequate, too.

I’m sure having terminal cancer feels socially oppressive that way. Particularly in the middle of a sea of feeling shitty and confronting the breakdown of your body and spirit, it must be horrible to watch everyone you know flattened and emptied out and inadequate in your presence. I’ll bet that’s why Tinder feels like a giant reprieve from the heavy looks and the weighty silences of other people. Finally, a bubble of mundane chatter and raw attraction where you can encounter someone without the weight of this absurdly unfair diagnosis.

But I’ll bet there are also people who can show up without feeling inadequate. I’ll bet you know people who bring their best, who relish the chance to be there for you. I’ve been trying to trick one of my friends into hanging out on her chemo days or while she’s recovering. I just feel like I could play the role of a good partner, fun or quiet or barely there if necessary. She questions why I’d want to be there, and I guess I don’t really blame her. Even though I see it as a way of showing up and offering her something I’m good at giving, maybe there’s also a little of the ambulance-chaser, disaster-gawker in the mix for me. Even if that’s a side effect of being drawn to the ugly truth at all costs, it can still feel a little suspect. As with any other personality trait, there are good impulses and bad impulses dancing together there.

If you decided to embrace the fairy tale, this would be part of the beauty and the danger of locating potential partners who wouldn’t run away or be dismantled by the prospect of standing by you to the end. Whether you start to tell people your diagnosis very early or mention it to someone you like, there’s still this question in the room: What kind of person might be willing to be there for you? Would it be someone who’s real and true and recognizes something in you that feels vital to his continued existence? Or will it be someone who loves the idea of himself as some kind of a savior or merciful saint, like the Virgin Mary in Michelangelo’s Pieta?

My suspicions on that front are probably distinctly parental. As a parent, I would want to be there for you all the time. I would want you to have a partner if you wanted one, but I’d also want you to know that I would give you everything I had to give. And frankly, that kind of parental devotion and worry might be irrelevant here. What you’re talking about is sex and romance and devotion and someone who’s in love with you, holding your hand at the end. A parent isn’t a suitable substitute when romantic love is what you’re looking for. Moreover, getting hung up on the intricate web of motives that live in any potential partner’s personality is almost always a mistake. Why bother? Are your own motives pure? Can you distill just the love out of a mix of a million different human needs and preferences and urges? No way.

And should you feel guilty about wanting someone to be by your side, or putting someone through such a potentially difficult experience? Hell no, as long as you’re honest with them. In fact, you can balance your own guilt at putting a partner through this against his guilt for having a perfectly human blend of good and bad traits that make him capable of going through it with you.

Obviously, the bottom line is that you should do exactly what you want. No one is going to argue with that. But I think you’re also wondering if it’s a good idea to focus on this, and if it’s a good use of your time to look for love. Your timeline is condensed, after all. You’d have to tell potential partners and watch them react and maybe run away, and that might be harrowing. That said, posting an honest “I’m Dying” listing on Tinder would attract the ambulance chasers.

I think you should experiment with what makes you feel good. It sounds like you’re into someone and it might be time to tell him. So tell him. You don’t strike me as someone who’s going to be traumatized by the wrong reaction. But it also sounds like you want to keep looking if this doesn’t work out. That’s okay, too. If it feels good to look, look. If it doesn’t feel good, stop. I do think you’d want to watch out for control freaks, who immediately want to sign onto all of it and take over everything in your life. But you’re probably a decent judge of character, having lived the life you’ve lived.

The real question is whether the fantasy of love will be a salve or not. Personally, I’m a big fan of choosing your illusion. I think every big, overwhelming event in life — sickness, kids, marriage, death — demands some suspension of disbelief. Fantasies and fairy tales present themselves to us culturally as modes of escape, but sometimes they’re actually a way of savoring the present; it just depends on how we use them. When I was young, I used my fantasy of love to judge all of my moments alone as Not Good Enough. I’d see something beautiful and think, “If only I had someone here to share this with.” I don’t do that anymore. I savor my life in a pretty solitary way, for the most part. Even though I tell my husband a lot, I never feel my moments alone are less worthy than the moments I spend in his company.

But I’ve dramatically changed my view of how love should function in a person’s life. I value my private perceptions and adventures in ways I never did before. And I guess that even with a partner in my life, I didn’t really feel whole until I landed here, in a place where I could treat my solitary trajectory as a romantic one.

That’s what I want for you more than anything else. I think it could bring your life a lot of joy and warmth to have someone who loves you like crazy and is there for you in spite of all “terrifying, morbid messes” to come. You should pursue that if you believe in that, and you shouldn’t feel guilty or embarrassed about it. But I also think that you should cling fast to the fact that this is your life and yours alone, and it’s beautiful already in its own rough, ragged way. It already matters. It doesn’t matter more if someone is there with you. It matters now. I want to challenge you to dare to see yourself through that lens, whether you find someone worthy of your love or not. I would hate for your search for love to rob you of what you already have. I want you to be able to take every fucked up, scary, morbid moment and every glorious, divine, irreplaceable moment and every mundane setback and dreary wait and imperfect, faintly satisfying moment in between and add them up to something truly romantic.

I get that this might sound obnoxious. I sometimes talk like this to my friend who’s going through chemo, and even though she’s a skilled novelist capable of capturing the most heartbreaking moments with a few well-chosen words, she’s not into my pep talks. She’s like, “Fuck you, I’m bald and I feel like shit.” Flowery words of inspiration just make her feel worse. So I give her shit and make jokes now. That’s what she likes.

That would also be one of the toughest aspects of having a relatively new partner under your current circumstances. You need someone capable of major shifts in key and tone and tempo. A person like that is hard to find. And even WITH this very sensitive tonal shifter along for the ride, you will still want some space to savor and honor your private experiences. Understanding that your solitary experience of the world is important, it matters, it’s romantic: This lies at the heart of all happiness as far as I’m concerned. And it’s a challenge we all face no matter what our circumstances are. It’s not easy. But happiness, even within the comfort of a partnership, is impossible without it.

I’m not saying you should milk every last drop of nectar from life even when you’re going through hell. You don’t have to overachieve your way through the time you have left. Just try to view yourself and your life through the eyes of a devoted partner whether you find that person or not. Because the jagged edges of who you are, the sharp corners of what you’re going through, even when they’re sad or chaotic or lonely, are everything.

It reminds me of the very first note of Beethoven’s First Symphony. I can’t get enough of that first note, hanging there like a question mark.

Imagine, sitting down to write your FIRST goddamn symphony at the age of 25, and thinking, “I’ll start with a sudden, jarring, unresolved chord in the wrong key! But then it will resolve quietly, and then I’ll add another jarring chord! And my third jarring chord will repeat and repeat, like a slightly sad, haunting question that hangs in the air a little too long!” I mean, what an arrogant, bold, brilliant choice. And even though it’s incredible how Beethoven manages to move so smoothly from that sweet, melancholy question to this lilting, graceful dance through the countryside, followed by a bouncy triumphant conquest, followed by a strange dark shadow where things get terrifyingly morbid and a little messy, he starts it all with this insistent, melancholy inquiry. And the battling themes, with their absurdly conflicted moods, combine to form a kind of rough, uneven attempt at an answer.

But no matter how much comfort it gives us to cling to the last, forceful note Beethoven offers, it’s clear that he doesn’t really have an answer. He wants us to stay close to the question, to hear the grace in those notes, to hear the anguish and the longing there. That’s what those first chords say to me: Even when your life feels incomplete, suspended, unresolved, your task is to relish that imperfect, unnervingly unfinished space as much as you possibly can.

Anguish and longing live at the heart of every life. We are all totally alone in some ways, but we can believe in love and love it like crazy even in our solitude. I might die alone. We all might. The Earth might stop spinning in the next second. Cultivating the belief that every sigh, every breeze, every melancholy, uncertain moment alone matters: This is my work and yours and everyone else’s. These things are tiny and stupid and inconsequential, yet they matter more than words can capture.

I’m still conflicted about your question. I want you to have the fairy tale and live inside a fantasy and live in reality and savor being alone, too. I want you to have everything.

Most of all, though, I want you to know that this world loves you more than you can possibly imagine. I want you to believe that. Even though the most terrifying and morbid evidence would seem to suggest otherwise, the truth is that this world adores you like the most devoted lover. I can’t prove it, but I know that it’s real. When you struggle, the leaves on the trees shudder, the sun weeps, Beethoven’s violins cry, and the spirits of the dead and the living are on your side. We are all living inside the same terrifying, sweet, sad question with you. Do you feel that? That part is not a fairy tale. That part is real.

Polly

https://www.thecut.com/2017/11/ask-polly-im-dying-but-i-want-to-be-in-love.html

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