🦋
For the love of god someone please get me a can of New Coke!
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Just got out the hospital and I’m scarier and angrier than ever 😘💋 Really didn’t want to do a stint in grippy socks vacation, now really don’t want to do the healing that comes after but if you think I’m not gonna whole ass it you’ve got another fucking thing coming
Oliver steps forward hesitantly into Charlotte’s space. The way his palms start to clam up and his nerves rush to his stomach, makes it feel like sadistic self-inflicted betrayal.
He tries not to flinch when his fingers brush her delicate wrist, taking it his hand to steady it and bringing his other to the belted clasp of the watch. The leather is sleek and smooth outwardly but the inner side is almost confusingly soft for leather. He unclasps the pointed metal piece and watches with a shameful interest as the band falls away, running like water against skin until it’s cradled and lightly clasped in his hand as though he’s curiously afraid to really hold it. They both slowly look up and their eyes meet in the middle in a heart topping searing moment. Against everything in him, Oliver’s eyes fall and submerge in the desire of her lips his gaze finds itself resting over.
Her lips lie together lightly but as though they could part at any moment and tell him everything he wants but is afraid to hear. They’re shaded with a paisley beige eased pink. So light it feels both like a hand laid over a thigh or unconsciously smoothing comfort that’s wanted but afraid to be voiced.
He forces his eyes back up and finds her expressive eyes so wide with something resembling hopeful anxiety, he feels like a bared open wound.
He takes a step back and holds out the watch still cradled in his palm. His eyes catch on the underside of the band where words are imprinted.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, taking it from him, careful for fingers not to linger.
She is setting it down on the table when he works up the courage and levels his voice enough to speak.
“What do the words say, if I may ask.”
She looks up and gives him a soft smile colored with an accepted sadness. Her eyes are such a lovely pale blue he thinks he’ll move forward and just let himself drown like he wants to.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he gets out before she can speak.
“It’s quite alright,” and his stomach flips as he watches her smile warm into a completely honest one, her eyes creasing with her delight but maybe really his own. “My mother gave me this watch. She raised my little sister and I and I always had such admiration for her grace.”
She sounds a lot like you. “You have a sibling?”
The smile breaks into a feeling of resignation. “I did. Unfortunately she passed.”
“I see.
I’m sorry.”
“It was a very long time ago. I got the engraving put in after she died.
‘Returned to peace but forever alive within.”
“That’s beautiful.” And he means it, and he can see that she knows it.
“It’s a way to keep the good memories but always remember my duty to keep her memory alive by making this a world she could have only known love in.”
“That must be a heavy burden at times.”
She looks up, genuinely caught off guard.
she waves off the correct assumption, “It’s truly not. It’s one I want to carry.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“Well,” she says breaking the silence awkwardly, should we finish getting ready? I mean not together of course! Separately. You at your house, me here-
“I understood, Detective.”
She breaks into laughs of genuine delight and Oliver tries to fight the pride that wants to bubble up.
Knives out and Glass Onion work bc it brings the role of mystery solving detective out of brooding tortured genius and back to its rightful place as Friendly Weirdo In a Little Outfit
Too old to hold hands,
But you’d hold theirs.
Too fat to wear that,
But you’re allowed to wear yours.
Too out there to be acceptable,
But the leaps in logic you take are larger than mine.
Too strange to be accepted,
But your rules don’t add up.
Too weird to be tolerated,
But you’re happy to ignore most things.
Thank god he’s nothing like you.
Winner up or runner up?
Hard to tell,
When you’re losing either way…
Which do you prefer?
Your dignity or your sanity?
You can’t have it both ways,
But you’d take it in any shape or form,
This I know.
Why?
Because he told me so.
No one dies with a happy ending,
I mean,
Maybe if you die while getting a blow job.
But that is a very niche instance.
Bohemian king,
Humble ruler,
Flower laid over your heart.
As delicately placed as your hand on my soul,
As the shape I take in your arms.
Kindest of touch,
Softest of temperament,
Do I really get the honor,
To lay my head next to yours each night?
You’ve ruined my life.
Do it again.
Where did I go wrong to end up with you?
Please tell me!
I’d make the same mistake again and again.
No reason!
I’m asking for a friend!
“it’s a beautiful thing to be understood, but a powerful thing to understand yourself.”
— iambrillyant
we've been holding onto the old self, these days. the wolf girl. the weird little kid. the strange wildling that would run through forests, our knees all skinned.
we remembered the magic of our loose teeth, how we used to know how to talk to trees. we're taking god out of the church and prying worship from the dirt. making our lives about using the finer things, about just-trying. the leisurely enjoyment of laziness, lawlessness, of leaving the dishes undone. of enjoying food without apology, of showing off our naked body, of kissing her. call it hedonism, sure.
always knew something else about ourselves. spent our whole lives hushed up; told we're made wrong. that's fine, these days. we used to know how to cast spells on the clouds. we have always been a little bit of lightning. the moss will teach us the soft hand - here's how to belong.
relearning magic. a little beautiful necromancy: you gave me nothing but bones. i still made a family.
A co-worker of mine was standing outside with me during a break from customers to share a cigarette with me, and told me about how he had lost his brother that he was close with some years ago. He told me about how they used to be in a band together with some friends, and how ever since he'd died, he hadn't played any music because he'd been too scared and anxious. I told him about how I'd lost my brother to suicide some years ago.
I went home and pulled out an old tiny wooden box my brother had given me before he'd died. I'd been using it to store guitar picks I'd collected over the years, including one guitar pick that used to be his. I haven't played the guitar since he'd died, my hands are too small to play some of the chords, so I play bass and piano instead.
I went to work the next day and gifted my brothers old guitar pick to my co-worker. I told him that it'd been sitting in a box for ten years unused, and would probably sit there for longer if I kept it there. Told him that I thought he deserved to have it, because I bet he could put it to better use than I ever would. Told him I didn't feel like it was coincidence that me and him would cross paths with each other in our lives, and that it seemed suiting that we had these similar experiences but split in two halves. That somehow, I felt like he was meant to have the guitar pick. I told him that I knew he'd not played guitar since his brother died, but that if he ever decided to play again one of these days, maybe he'd be able to honor both of our brothers by using that guitar pick.
He almost cried. He thanked me. Then he went home that night and for the first time in years he played the guitar.
I don't know what the meaning of life is or what my purpose is, but I do believe that love and human connection is one of the most important things in life. It's finding ways to tell strangers you love them and share experiences with others. I think it's all just about love.
