We've all been broken. There is something in the polaroids we take of the ones we love. 4

“I wonder what happens to the places we’ve been to and where does the love go.”

“I don’t even know why I’m buying Twinning's when the daily things are long gone from those who make memories of places I don’t know anymore.”

“I wonder why do I miss London all of a sudden.”

“Isn’t that where you fled to when you’re parents kicked you out? So no one really dismantled it when it was an escape, it’s not your fault it changed, but your London is still intact in your head, our London if you must. I met you there, later... but I remember how it was, so fucking long ago.” Miles thinks. “It’s been ten years, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Last time when I was on Oxford street, I had a panic attack. I just felt like I’ve been elsewhere, that I lived somewhere else. I just feel as if all the people I knew were bleached away and wouldn’t even want me anywhere near, it’s odd.” I rub my arm. “I didn’t want it and I swore myself to never go there again. It’s really more dystopian than you think.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t in London, but I was there last year. It’s fucked over. All small stores closed and a sense of some fear of like a fucking death penalty and ads which remind you that you’ll get fucked over. UKIP or not, they need to stop playing that they’re soft and accepting. Biggest ol’ cunts.” Miles spits it out, as we talk over in my kitchen which is more spacious as I had found the place earlier and found a liking to it, now with Brian gone, working more to pay the rent and avoiding questions regarding my music, which Miles himself maneuvers his mind out. “But you randomly get nostalgic, mate.”

He pats on the rim of the tea mug, as I drink my black coffee slowly, as if I were back for some reason, as I close my eyes.

“It’s so odd. The world became a nazi monopoly. I’m just waiting for someone to push me on the street and beat me up for being gay.”

“Well, it can happen. But I doubt it.” Miles thinks. “We all moved thinking of that, so yeah. Y’know... back in the day.”

He sighs and I blow at the coffee for no reason, wishing I could cry, but instead my emotions bottle up until I fucking reach hotline level and hear someone with a heavier accent and then I can hear my own echo back, as if there is a meaning of missing where you came from when you move, but the problem is, your house has been burnt down and the hunt for you is announced because you’re different and gay. All thoughts get discarded, thinking of what had once been home, getting all the mind replaced for the nurtured desire of one’s to find a home within a country. 

And it gets captured because the more you think of time, how something can slip by so easily like a quick silk scarf through the fingers, fear just straddles even harder, making everything fall and break, never leaving shards just to remind that nothing is forever, that we all vanish and all the tales we tell ourselves are different, just like you can’t remember tomorrow, neither will you remember yesterday or the rest of your life. And it gets worse with a polaroid, because it’s instant and done and the film is expensive.

Patience becomes more than a virtue and the back of the hand has far too many lipstick traces.

And Arielle’s birthday party at some restaurant becomes even more disastrous than it could even be, as rumors start spreading that Arielle had the feeling that her boyfriend was cheating on her. Alex was supposed to bring the cake, while I had picked up Miles as my date, as I had to watch him try and finish his tie, as I ended up looking away, recalling the last night when the party was smaller and we would just end up crashing nearly every week at Arielle’s and Alex’s regardless just because Alex had wanted to see his boyfriend. It wasn’t even that they would do anything in Alex’s house, they would just randomly talk and I would hear comments regarding me and Miles. Miles even wondered if we should put up an act, which I quickly refused so maybe that’s why and the fact that Brian was still fresh in my memory that Arielle had dared Alex to show how he wasn’t homophobic and kiss Miles for half a minute, my eyes went wide as I watched everything resolve and thankfully they barely even opened their mouths, but watching was like a time bomb, if watching those two kiss meant nothing then I figured maybe Arielle had been just as daft as the media tells us people are. 

I gave my gift to Arielle, wondering why had so many of us decided to go in suits, even the girl which would hang out with the record player, I had found out that her name was Valentine through her heavy French accent, but she was as fluent in English as one may be, but I barely talked to her, but she approached me and I wondered what her age was under the whole Lolita attire, but her age being above twenty just confirmed her status, as she sat next to me, Miles calling Alex, as Arielle was talking a few friends, freaking out and wondering who was even Alex sleeping with. Watching women and their drama just seemed to remind me why I felt so alienated from them and why I wasn’t attracted to them. Valentine seemed to be silent, just like she always was and when I was returning from the bathroom, I noticed her hands in pockets talking to Arielle as they both nodded at me. I only prayed that they didn’t think that Alex was cheating on her with me.

“So you’re not dating Miles, then?” She asked me as I shook my head and she took words to think upon, as everything seemed to be patiently waiting for Alex for the past twenty minutes, the balloons themselves seemed to be unexcited as Arielle would run through the list of every woman in her head and I was surprised they never asked me, but she was thinking to confront Miles to ask him if he had known of something. I only cursed at both loverboys with the forgiveness coming from if they would both show up, only to confess what was going on behind their closed doors, but instead Miles arrived, approaching Arielle and telling her that the cake hadn’t been made yet and that Alex was stuck there, waiting. She seemed to ease at his words, but the interrogation still began as she asked my best friend to sit next to her and I felt as if we were in some classical English novel with gossiping high society as usual. 

It seemed more obvious by the minute as Valentine fiddled, watching me and not holding any contact as I would seem bored, only checking on Miles which assured that Alex loved her and it seemed only poisonous to watch it, as if Brian could join this whole discussion himself, but thankfully Arielle hadn’t known my ex partner, so it was settled at that. 

“Do you want to get the fuck out?” She asks and looks at me, actually desperate from all the drama and then quickly back at Arielle, which is immersed in Miles. And then she notices how I quickly glance at Miles. “If your not-boyfriend needs you, we’ll be nearby. Just text him now.”

I glance back at her, as she picks up her suit from the back of the chair.

“I really can’t deal with all this drama, Alex isn’t sleeping with any of the woman she’s scared of.” Valentine says vaguely and gets her hair out of the suit, now scared, yet sternly desiring to leave already as she fishes out cigarettes and a lighter in her bag. “Look, if you wanna stay with all these girls gossiping, feel free.” 

And she turns around, walking slowly and I excuse myself to no one in particular, taking my phone and once I’m out she waits there, smoking and starts walking down the road as the buildings just get taller with more lights in them, sinking the whole surroundings like any other big city would, as we keep walking in silence and I wonder if that’s how we seem to be described as today’s companions: quiet. 

“At least last year’s birthday party wasn’t bad, it was a dress up, I was a nurse. Nothing too fancy, just felt like it. Got some vintage nurse dress I remember.” She says and soon enough, sighs, lighting another cigarette and when we stop at a bench I actually wonder if she had anything in mind at all. I find it ironic how she managed to say that she wanted to get out of the gossip, because it was far too feminine as she would say on, but she would be the one biting her feelings in, holding one feminine trait instead of another and it was unfair of me to say so, because I would also hold feelings even if not often and I was the only who would speak of them and later I would realize Miles’ own confusion when neither of us were even in-game anymore. But either way, I watched her a bit confused, but not speaking out myself as I lit a cigarette watching her trying to understand what even moves she could do. And disaster seemed as frequent as life given. Loneliness seemed to stay with me that night, desire long gone and lost, too many thoughts straddling nothing as she had decided to ask me questions after all, as we had stood up, me checking on Miles with a quick call, who was only surprised that I had headed out with Valentine, but commented that he wished he would’ve done the same thing but he had to stay with Alex.

After living around small houses and trees it was comforting to go back to places familiar with one’s own mind peace. And I wondered if small cities were the answer to one’s isolation or would we all go back to bigger cities with taller buildings for us to hide anywhere at all? I wondered if we were all lost on trains with beloved.

It seemed as if women walked hand in hand with disaster, as alienation seemed to hang above us both.

“So what happened with you and your boyfriend, since everyone seems to be tormenting some ghosts of the past?” She asks, leaning against her legs, blowing the smoke out, never to show any anxiety, as I seem still to be catching everything on the surface. I hold my silence as she watches me, before leaning back on the bench and then looking around. “You want a drink then?”

Valentine seems a bit frustrated and lost and I wonder what do I even say and how shallow would I even seem and then I just shake my head and in that brief split of a second I catch my breath and I decide to speak out a bit, after all.

“He cheated on me quite a few times and we’ve been on and off through out many, many years.” I flick the ashes onto the pavement. She watches me more pleased with the fact that I spoke rather than at my past. I muse on speaking further which would strangle me into a conversation or not. “So now it’s a matter of keeping the stance of the words I’ve told him, that’s about it, really.”

“And what did you tell him, Jamie?” Valentine asks curiously. 

“That I’d skin him alive if he came back.” I shake my head, not even laughing at the daft, violent joke. “I just told him not to come back.”

My voice shakes.

“I’ve never told him that.” I go on. “We would break up with some intentions and love and that time when I kicked him out of our house, I couldn’t. I was too angry at him. I didn’t want him at all, anymore. I just wanted him out and I felt that I ended up knowing nothing and believing and loving someone who never existed by the end of the day. I just felt like I was going in circles with no meaning, that my own life was a dull repetition of me forgiving him and when off thinking of him so often.”

Talking to people felt wrong if I couldn’t even talk to myself.

And there’s too much wrong feelings when you remind yourselves of lost loves which you couldn’t pursue anymore, because they overflow that you can’t even do anything with your hands whether it swings like a pendulum, you don’t have suicide on any side of life, just misery dangling even heavier like an anchor reminding whose slave you’ve been and the chains you never freed yourself from, but learnt how to walk with them until they rust off, fall with age or the violent snap of the fingers, but just like PTSD an old love comes back to haunt because no one forgets pain.

And sometimes you don’t get a goodbye in reply, when you’ve waved enough and cried on your own.

Never listen to those who say it’s easy to get over people

If you’ve loved only you can stop yourself with the harshest form of sudden death.

Fall in love eventually, just like you buy a new bouquet of roses, you’ll always have the same deja vu of loved.

Your existence will forever be a knife which I will never speak of. I was happy to see him each time, but not now, not now when I’ve decided to discard it all and bathe in silent solitude, because I haven’t had a broken love by myself for so long.

-

I tend to write this story when I get depressed or too thoughtful about things and I just muse on anything. I get anxious about stories coz obviously I judge which stories are more liked and etc and I get anxious about this one and I'm happy when I get told that it's great, but I guess just like anyone with low self-esteem I get anxious about the stories I'm more attached to. I started writing it roughly as I was getting my first signs of bipolar and I ended up chucking my worries in it, specifically when the feelings are the most intense. And in general I started writing it kind of going on one of my beloved topics regarding sexuality because there's still no guideline and we fall in love often (if we are on the romantic scale of course:) ) and I just get angry at many things and even if I myself feel very dettached from women these days, I still use that in the sense that I presume Jamie would be somewhere on that scale and it's a bit weird and unusual for me because my gender shifts when it comes to women, but I've been very distant from that and settled and gay now, so yeah. So it's still interesting to muse on and frankly I wasn't going to post this, I was pondering on Relationship Values but I ended up writing the last bits and here they are x) 

With everything happening it's rather odd kind of thinking of places which people would label as home, like where you grew up and since I've lived in many places I frankly only feel like the only place I'd go back where I lived would be Colombia and that's it, but it gets hard at times since I've been living and attached to the UK for so long, so with too many memories you get nostalgic and hateful, frankly, so of course the theme of some lost home always goes on in my stories. And without realizing it I ended up shoving it here and the more I wrote the chapter the more I had places in Stockholm in my head and I realized I miss it xD since I live in another part of Sweden now x) Uni and all xD So yeah. 

I also now with age calmed down and so did Callie, we kind of go back to things we've liked, as in different products we would avoid the first years we moved out, like we're frantically drinking Guaraná now or I've been back to drinking Twinnings. 

I think one of the things which changed a lot for me over the years was also London, which I don't speak of but where I frankly grew up as well, visiting so often and spending there months and months at times. It's really odd to see how it became so Brit washed and fucking racist. It's really not what it was when I was growing up. My last visits was me just having panic attacks because it's just so uncomfortable. So kind of putting Jamie there was easy and having that based off his experiences, since I could use mine even if it's very briefly for a few lines. I think rather long on a few lines and then write them to have this vivid image really. 

The Miles reply was me describing what Callie had described to me a few months after we moved out from the UK and she went to pick up our stuff. Never forget fucking custom controls which didn't want to let her through when she had a ticket back and she was there for a day, because they said that what if she were to stay and then they would have to use tax money to deport her (she had the ticket back and trust me, at that point we wanted to burn everything to the ground). So, shoutout to ignorance. 

For some reason when it came to the party I thought of Stockholm and somewhere near Södermalm actually, I won't remember now exactly since I would be obsessed with walking all over the city and different neighborhoods and etc. And that made me miss Stockholm because well that's where me and Callie moved quite a while back and it just gave a piece of mind and I miss it dearly, but Uni xD so yeah and the apartment situation is a disaster. I feel terrible for everyone searching for apartments there, it's impossible to find anything. 

I also just pick up with no proper story and I keep thinking of it as I keep writing, that's how this chapter came to be from now xD and besides the last chunks after Jamie's last speech, was on that wave and it was long already and longer than the previous and it was supposed to end there, but hey, the more the better 8)

I thought of Alex and Miles getting dared to kiss, but I ended up putting it in retrospective which I enjoyed the outcome more and the whole story and universe kind of is a big flip to all the wrong assumptions we do like sexuality and frankly attitude to queerness really. Such was the dare scene and the irony that Arielle would never think on Miles. 

I always enjoy hearing stories how people met and asking on the gossip, so I just fiddled my mind around thinking how would Valentine and Jamie hit off or how did they, so I just did a weird attempt here and obviously this is an AU where Jamie has different and other things on his mind, also Jamie identifies as gay here now, so yeah. 

I really based off the whole feelings of telling someone to fuck off entirely from quickly picking up the last time I had broken up with my ex, it's odd that to write angsty stuff you need to torment bad relationships you've had, obviously. But when I was growing up in my teens, when shit things happened to me (don't let me fool you, it's often that I think this, much rarer, but like weird things like odd blizzards mostly work now) I would think, cool, now I can describe this and this was one of the ridiculous reasons which would follow me to do things as well, so I could describe them. My only failed attempt at a hook up was because I wanted to try it so I could describe it. Disastrous. xD Ended fucking me up and losing faith in humanity XD

I'm not one which has it easy to get over people, since I torment myself a lot by taking out things to write or in general I think a lot, I talk a lot (Callie mostly, I literally don't shut up xD) so I end up analyzing my life 3 times a day, so it's even harder so I wanted to address that really and yeah.

I frankly am posting this because I liked the new bouquet of roses to love analogy. Seriously, I'm posting it because of that. That's how smart and thoughtful my decisions are. I've had many deja vus with people I've liked and I think main 3 perhaps or odd feelings or odd circumstances if you must. The first was this guy who resembled this other guy which frankly showed me how I wanted my writing to be and I never hit it off, so I met this other guy who resembled him. Was a disaster, but it was more of a big eye opener at the time, so yeah, looking back, I was male at that period and also when I met Callie. Also seeing Callie was a big deja vu and last one is well, the current state of affairs, really. Anyway.

The ending is more of an ode to me accepting myself and finding some peace of mind as male and gay, really. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and my odd long rambling.

Thank you and tell me if you liked it

<3

Jamie

mimosa

Bathe in nothing, bathe in solution, as the streets become hallucinations with faith, as I keep walking blocks down, all cigarettes discarded with each smoke, as I keep walking, watching people go by and I wonder how many would I ever meet again and how is it so that many people know you like a television set while for me I would never know their faces. I pull the coat collar up, feeling more at cold than I should ever be at six degrees. Rolling dice is more terrifying because the wrong things seem to land, as I knock on Miles’ door and there is nothing, besides the reflection of my sleepless night and I knock even louder, before realizing that there is literally no one in the house, as I go down and down the steps, praying not to find anyone unwanted and when I head out, the streets are just as empty, as people seem to have shifted to work, making it as empty as it had been an hour ago. The solution of browsing the newsagent becomes too simplistic that once I head in, I see Miles already waving at me, in a new parka which looks far from flattering. 

People put words in your mouth, when you don’t expect them to speak before you will ever manage the courage to do so. 

“I’m sorry, I heard of Arielle, mate, I’m so sorry.” And he starts the wrong side of the flip coin I would ever even want to address, as he takes my by the hand and my tongue is even more tongue tied, looking down at his arm around mine, as he continues to speak regarding Arielle. I catch his wave.

“Yeah, you... know when you go with one on holiday, if you actually want to marry them in the airport. I didn’t want to.” I state a bit too blantly and Miles just shrugs, sighing and I actually see sorry in his eyes. I feel a bit too angry at myself, as he doesn’t state anything at all, suggesting me to stay over and I feel even more frustrated as every simple thing is repreated from kicking off boots and taking off coats, Miles instantly going towards the kettle, as if I’ve not only seen him do it here but in all parallel versions where I would care. I keep watching him, wondering how much daft is one and which one of us even is it, I feel my knees shake, so I just cross my legs and tap on the mug once it’s given to me with some biscuits. Miles looks at me mourning Arielle more than I ever will. 

“I never loved her. She felt... too much of an image, as if I could sell her...” I pause, pressing my lips. “To myself. Didn’t work.”

I don’t grab his hand or anything like that. 

Miles allows me to smoke a cigarette inside, I light it, as he continues agreeing to mourn for a person who doesn’t even care of the death of a party. 

“We... We all lie to ourselves, far too often, Miles.” I try to understand if he sees anything, he seems a bit concerned and then excuses himself to get sugar and I know I’m in a monologue. I pull my quiff lightly, not enough to dissolve it more than the night stars have. I close my eyes and say far too many things, when I can’t see him. “I’m gay, Miles.”

The pause doesn’t take too long. He puts the mug down, but I turn around and he is not lost in confusion as I thought he would be. 

“Well... I don’t think you should come out, Al, but y’know... whatever works for you.”

“I thought we both would, since we both-”

“Alex we messed a bit in our teenage years, no more. Fuck.” He swears under his breath and I see him look away, as I scratch my barely existent stubble. 

“I thought you were also fucking around, Miles. Just like I did... With other men.” I say abruptly. He shakes his head violently. I widen my eyes, asking him. He shakes his head again. I bite my tongue, holding the list of men he’s been with from Matt’s drunken mouth which he overheard from an angry Eugene or an old one time lover I had. He turns around to open the cupboards and takes more sugar and I see him add even more even if he never drinks two spoons, let alone four he had just added, four brown cubes and I wonder how does even mixed sugar taste now, but he doesn’t drink it. 

I wonder if these are the eyes of a break up, then. I can see him with more women which would be like my previous Arielle, but instead I sigh, blowing on my mug and he doesn’t even turn to face me, the eye of a man who would never accept himself, someone I would be in the mirror if turned under the right light a few days ago, when I would be able to face my coward side. When I break I can’t even look into the mirror and if love were a mirror, neither do I want to see a former lover. We break the people we don’t want. Because they’ve told us too many things we’d never want. It becomes a dialogue none of us want, but a meddling we’ve all done. 

“Miles?” He doesn’t say anything. He’s tense, I just turned into jelly, knowing him in and out. My fear is better than his cowardliness. 

“Miles, I’m not coming out, but neither will I be surrounding myself with plastic beards-”

And I duck to miss the mug with the boiling water, as he holds his face in his hands. 

Face your past.

I don’t tell him that, because we can discard memories we hold, because they are ours to bear. I uncross my legs, wipe the corner of my lip from crumbs of a biscuit I ate, waiting for nothing and I leave, stepping out on the street, hugging myself

Being alone is heavier than being with a lie. But lying in the same ways, sells. 

-

The story is called mimosa as an ode, I guess, I still get ptsd from flowers due to them being chucked down my throat by relatives which wouldn’t respect my discomfort and force the assigned gender, obviously. And there’s a few flowers which I didn’t mind too much and one of them is mimosa (which is actually called scientifically acacia dealbata, as mimosa is a different one, but I’m going with the childhood name) I have fond memories of walking under it and it’s a bit association for March with me. My second thought was another flower, but I’ll keep the other story for myself, maybe for a spin-off of sorts x), I'll see x)

I just got the urge to write it down, I need to be in bed, actually xD as I was scrolling with Callie on the gryles tag and I started musing on Miles and Alex, how Alex is single now and doesn’t seem to be interested in women and his lyrics are all the same. Unpopular opinion but Vertigo is such a disaster. 

Ok, I wrote that bit yesterday and I'm finishing off the backstory now xD

Basically I kept wondering what if maybe Alex wanted to be out and Miles didn't and frankly, I think everyone is well aware that AM attracts mostly people who aspire to be Arabella and whatnot, so that's a big selling point and (well, I don't like the song Arabella) Knee Socks, Fireside and others are still amazing songs even if at times they're a bit too cringy on the lyrics, but either way, Alex's got a great way with lyrics, so I guess it's natural that Vertigo had that touch, really, I didn't like it musically or lyrically, but that's just me (and Callie nagging of it as well xD). 

Regarding the story I just kept thinking what happened, because just like any fucking romance you always wonder what happened, where are they now and so on. Alex is single and doesn't seem to keen on dating women or anyone for that matter, while Miles hatched himself onto a plastic beard, sorry, she just looks... boring and a cut out for now. I'm not fond of anyone who has nothing else to offer besides girlfriend or boyfriend of said person. 

So it ended up obviously me musing on what the fuck was going on and musing myself, kind of on one's own anger when nothing happens, which had happened to me far too often with people turning me down before anything ever began due to reluctance to start something queer or date a trans person or other reason, rejection sucks and sometimes you just have to be the one to walk away with it. And in general I've been musing on kind of accepting who I am now, as a default, male and gay, really, so I'm dropping fluidity really, because it's well, who I am now and who I will be, so yeah. So it was also a matter of musing on relationships I've had and etc. 

Another big inspiration was, I don't really watch interviews with Alex these days, but I came across a gif set maybe months ago when he states that going on holiday with someone makes you realize whether you want them or not and well, it's true, I dunno... I've been around everywhere with Callie so yeah xD So that also really drove me and I chose that specific moment between them when I think things might've fallen apart. I started scrapping notes or rather first paragraphs on the next chapter, which I think should be last or maybe just a sequel, I'll see. I'm still musing but I started thinking and just wrote it down on my phone next to a lake, thinking of things and mimosa seemed to be the matching story and the character I was thinking in. I really miss writing from Alex's point of view, he's awfully fun to write and I've been itching to finish off the next chapter of To Miles, so I should get around to do that xD I wrote this short story in one go as well, like literally in a few mins before I headed off to bed xD

I think the story conveys more of my feelings or rather angsty analysis of what I think might be going on, because I love them both and I'm dying to know what is actually going on.

I'm not sure regarding Alex's sexuality, I think he's pansexual, but I like making my characters have different sexualities through out different fiction pieces, I tend to usually do Alex pan though.

Also it was me just wanting since I wrote this a bit of yes, fuck yeah, back to writing men, I wanted him to be gay here and I love all my stories, but nothing beats the pleasure of writing about queer men, sorry xD

I watched too much House of Cards and I'm still binging and obsessed with the fact that it's so silent that Frank is queer, when you had that amazing episode when he goes back to the academy and stealing the fooling around line, was my own nod I guess, because it was personally one of my favourite episodes I've seen so far, obviously due to it's queer nature. 

The other men bit, it's me trying not to stick too many characters in, but then, if you're reading this, you know who I stick everywhere, shamelessly. xD But I'll see, it's still milex and I want it like this. I feel like I force myself not to ship everyone with Jamie. Oh well.

I think one of the phrases which I enjoyed was 'Matt's drunken mouth which he overheard from an angry Eugene' also implying an open backstory 8) I love those. I love open backstories or untold things because it's so painfully real.

It was very freeing to write Alex, because we've all got our past we go away from, whether it's relationships or closeted gender or closeted sexualities, it's all there, yeah, it's always love mostly, but either way, the story was empowering to write, really.

I think I'll leave it at that xD I think I'm very explicit of my love endeavors anyway and current attraction to men xD So yeah, I hope you enjoyed it 

Tell me if you did :3 and thank you

<3

Jamie

Explaining Death to a Baby

I yank myself out of the water at the first cry and I don’t even know how are you supposed to tell a child that mom is not coming back, let alone talk properly about death. How do you explain that the evening will no longer be bathed in people they trust? How do you even explain when it becomes a chanting mantra, beginning for some resolution, making itself a harsher metaphor just because it’s a child, because there has never been such loss and as you learn to live, you need to learn how to die and accept all those which pass away and we all lose our parents eventually whether it’s spiritually or death. All that matters is who had brought the axe into the house if it wasn’t a scythe and for what reason. 

And how is it to hold down things since you’ll never drown a person to get them out of their own misery, because they cannot yet understand it. 

I yank my head lower one last time to have a quick feeling of knowing what grasping death is like and then I head right out, towel quickly wrapped around myself and holding the child in a firm grasp, rocking back and forth on my feet, feeling their sobs go entirely through me as well, as I hold like the mother would, because I would never be her, feeling my back ache already from now and all the previous times. 

A broken heart does not mend anything.

If you throw a bucket of red paint on walls people will presume it’s blood.

We say the most ignorant things when we vent, because it comes from one naked visibility to death threats on the other and things you’d never say to those who died for that matter. It becomes a notion of rocking a child and knowing what day is on the calendars that soon enough it’ll be a year of alienation because people don’t really go shaking your hand once you come out, people never care, because if you’ve got a uterus you’re a traitor and it will never matter what you juggle on your hands or what good you will do, because if you become an enemy to the majority, society will never like you, just like tides of history change and become obsessed with issues often they’ve created or supported, it’s never enough for people to look beyond their lawn. A neighbor’s dying cow is not as fatal in the eyes of an American woman as her own blister. And it’s more than a sacrifice of oneself to actually let themselves be under threat because they want to be themselves. And neither will we have a proper day celebrating the living, because only the dead are deemed as saints.

Hate is the best fuel, because there’s so much to do. 

Like carrying a child. Will never make me female, will only make me a caring parent.

It doesn’t matter that there is no one present between me and the child. My own fears will never affect them, because we split ourselves to protect others-

I hear the door knock and I presume that the bell is broken again. I hesitate to even reply, as if I could scream when nothing has happened. I just twist the door open, waving my arm inside, never looking up, because eyes never truly meet due to two’s mutual, prickle fear.

What if the world will end with holes in the ground for us to fall into hell, because just like a fabric breaks, maybe so does life.

Everyone who says that opinions of others don’t affect them is a fucking liar. We all get affected whenever someone tells us we are unnatural, because we’ve heard it so many times and whenever I hear someone saying that one death threat affected them doesn’t understand that they’ve sent twenty. My anger just keep boiling, as I end up pressing buttons to heat up the kettle until I end up pressing the right one. 

I come back to see Jamie just leave the shopping bags I’ve left and by night I start counting the cigarettes I’ve missed and the calls just keep coming with announcements, with paper work and disaster of situation and when misery strikes no one asks if you even want it. But if happiness will not save us, misery does at times. 

And you’ll never be able to film a sex scene without getting turned on if you’re sexual.

Love is more than a broken misery, it’s an unfinished dialogue in the wrong hands. 

Never speaking out again will be a slow death but not as painful as rejection, that’s why we use it as a pigeon’s wing and we will never notice the feathers we’ve grown because there’s no point in flying if you’ve trimmed yourself down, so the cognitive question becomes what is worth and what is the worth of self-

I say fuck it, as the hours go by, relfecting in each deja vu window, legs propped as the child sleeps and I push my head lower between my legs, feeling nothing, not believing in myself, becoming mechanic just not to speak and now even texting for food as I would end up paying him back, never able to head outside and counting hours rather than days.

Misery will come in pairs, because if there is no love, misery will be your veil as you’ll try to give up on a red death.

And all is a repetition of fear, because there is nothing to give up but a love you’ve walked upon and there is nothing new in a road you’ve known and let go.

Give yourself up, for you’re never truly done that for love.

And the first day I head out with the child, my heart pounds with desire of knowing.

The child becomes a metaphor of myself and I become the metaphor of the child, because you’ll grow to love someone or a few eventually, maybe. I smoke the next few days alone, before venting the room again, legs propped against the table and knowing where I would lay if I were under the table, scrapping the wood with my nails as I would strangle myself.

-

I was going to post this a bit later, but I wanted to write this down (coz I'm still ill with this annoying flu and I'm dying to sleep xD) I started musing on the last paragraph talking of suicide and I started recalling how many novels and etc, end frankly with suicide to free themselves, while in this case it would be more about ending something or rather wishing for it to be over, rather than to be free, not all of us want that if something is intense. And I've been rather ill to write properly, so I've been awfully shy and I guess because I wanted to keep this as a weird short story like the ones of Alison/Jack I used to write rather often a few years ago. And choosing Alison was really simple as well, as I had wanted to write some fanfiction and I guess digging on the fact that I think Alison identified as androgynous was a nod I guess since I date Callie who is androgynous and made it easier and natural to write really, I just wanted fanfiction of someone who I think is/identfied previously and it's my head canon really, well, until recent Alison obviously. 

I also wanted to push this out 9th to 10th really coz it's an anniversary since I came out as genderfluid and male and I guess after thinking and musing, I know I'm fluid, but it's more natural for me to be male, so yeah. I'm not erasing my past, but it's who I am and who I want to be. So yeah, here I am. I was frankly solely male for the last year and I've never been so happy about my identity, I may be fluid even sexually, but I'm still a gay man and yeah, this is who I want to be for the rest of my life. It never means that I will never be attracted to anyone else, that's why I acknoledge my fluidity or that I maybe will have a few years where I will be agender again, but that doesn't change who I am. 

So I guess this was more significant for me to push out as man and give heads up. Also small dedication to the fact that tumblr has been revolting me to no end, so that's why I've been finding it awfully hard considering that all I'll see is chopping off men's head for 8th March, so fuck all of you. 

I'm happy to those who stopped talking to me as I've been accepting myself as a man and I'm happy that those will leave or left. Fuck you, honestly.

So yeah, I have to speak out on my anger. 

I've been awfully angry and even more closed up online, but I still push out openness here which I will continue and I'm happy that all of you enjoy. Thank you. 

The idea came from, I should start doing notes on backstories because I write them once I publish them, so I'm so fucking knackered that I'm scrapping my memory and Callie's as I told her when I just wrote the first paragraph and I had been bottling the idea the whole day, thinking which story to put it in. I think I randomly got the idea before the shower, how do you explain death to a baby? Basically I've been rather open, but I'm not too fond of parents which have no fucking idea what to do with children and I was talking as a child kept chanting mom on repeat and it was frankly like a mantra, because the mom was out, so was the dad and the babysitter and etc were doing their job, but you can't cover up for stupidity regarding parents, so it kept going on and on, everyone going on to calm the child down and I just I always wanted to be a parent and it's frankly the only thing why I'm being cautious about hormones and etc. So I just get revolted at people which just see themselves as baby machines. I'm a loud mouth, but I promised myself to be honest.

So then I was just depressed about it and how the child's line of thinking is so simplistic and how would you even explain if a mom in this case would never come back? 

That got me depressed and I started thinking which story should I even throw it too.

Also I was weirded out why I've been killing off mothers in the past stories, but mother in the black light I show is a metaphor to someone I've been hurt by who is not my mom, thankfully, so I've used mother in two meaning of my life, to degrade them in an argument and well, to my mother, who I love dearly. 

It's always a bit weird to speak of family, because you've got so many people you end up discussing and family is a very introverted institution really. 

But who are we not to speak the truth?

So yeah, I can keep doing things like Thicker than Blood, but people end up being mothers and I want to address that, because it's blind and ignorant to state that all family is amazing. It rarely ever is. And yeah, it's a touchy subject, so yeah. 

So those are the mother's I'm discussing if you must.

And I just ended up studying child psychology a lot back when I was in college and I was musing on going onto child psychology, we'll see xD and yeah, I would just look at the child and think of everything really, everything learnt.

And I guess the third subject would be love and attraction. I'm not going to lie, I get angsty I start writing about people I'm attracted to or just like anyone I sulk on paper, openly. It varies from people I've lost yet had crushes, people I'm deeply attracted to and I'm waiting for things to happen and my own doubt of not being good enough. It becomes a harsh and dark way of venting, even if I don't agree with a lot of things I write, I say them like the character would, in this case, Alison. So then what are my views, ahahah? Anyway, my views are easy to see. 

I get odd images or ideas and one was red paint on walls as blood. Usually such ideas end up one-liners but hey, the death baby thing ended up a whole short story or things end up being novels as well x) 

I get really annoyed and depressed at the amount of "kill all men" on tumblr so I get pissed at myself that sometimes I just wish I could yell the same things back whenever I get someone telling me they would love to split me open to make me bleed to death. I would never do that or say, but it's awful when you get cornered by fear. 

I hate how trans people are only cared in death and trans men frankly not at all. Like I said I wanted to address the hate AFAB people get if they're trans, because we're just seen as butch dykes always, which revolts me or traitors to women. I hate how American women are hailed above all considering that tumblr is crawling with them (shout out since it's my break-up anniversary as well, got inspired to write angry stories for a few months, but I'm thankful you made me realize how revolted I was by some many women and I came out as a man). I do get annoyed that so many issues are ignored becaus ethey don't concern American women, yes, I do get annoyed that their blisters are more important and then they'll send me death threats yet cry over Emma Watson's death threats (Emma Watson proudly ranks some high space on people I hate the most and I wish would shut the fuck up for her transphobia and homophobia), but hey if it's a woman how dandy, let's forgive her. Ugh. I'm so revolted. 

I think of my own parenting because you end up thinking of how you'd want a child to address you and it comes with time to fully detach that giving birth doesn't make you a woman in any ways unless you are one, of course. 

I made a point of making the baby gender neutral. Never gender your child. Don't be an asshole. 

One of those one liner phrases end up like the holes, I was reading on the enormous Siberian Crater and how it was called something among the lines of a hole downunder and that made me think a lot and I used it. (Sorry the backstory is long xD Special day, special backstory and story :3)

I get annoyed at the people's opinion don't matter. Do you honestly expect me to go on calmly after seeing how "badass women are which kill men"? 

The happiness and misery helping is a good saying I love. Let happiness help you better though:)

The sex scene was me musing on House of Cards (yes, I gave in, I honestly wish someone shoved in face that it's so fucking queer that I should watch it. I was depressed about Frank and his old classmate. My headcanon is that he's gay and his attraction to Zoe is merely to keep her. And Claire the more I look seems like a beard and there's too much questioning.) specifically there was a crotch shot of Frank and I was like, fuck... where's the erection xD and that made me write the line frankly (pun pun pun not intended though xD) 

The end spoke everything I wanted to say and I'm happy and thankful for the past year and the support from everyone. I love you all dearly and thank you so much

If you enjoyed it please tell me :3

Thank you

And here's to my one year open anniversary

I've never been happier as myself finally

<3

Jamie

I'm waiting to greet you 5

It’s a harder affair with oneself when I see him, how people idolize him but the more people you see, the more you realize how you’re degraded to an image and soon enough the signatures become bleak and the hand no longer aches, and those who listen to how loneliness actually tastes and becomes vinegar in years don’t stay or make homophobic remarks so the more people met the lower the grave digs in order to fall and see both of them

But the question is

If I was the first upon the lips

Was I was the wisest choice?

“Jamie?” He invites me on a fucking hunting trip.

In the end no animals were killed and he just wanted an excuse of a tent so that the rain could be the barrier and his cigars took all the oxygen and my cigarettes gave a tone. Maybe it’s because we’re both men and the question is not even old, but he takes the lead and who follows when both wear the suit and the cigar and cigarettes pile up as he watches me with a smile.

Neither make a move, as we sleep cold and we don’t even spoon, waking to a cobweb with water on the zipper of the tent and food is exchanged, bought on the previous day. He’s so hidden that even I have my own doubts about him, as I watch him and I feel as if I was vegan in an entirely different life, listening that maybe lack of meat would push mania away on the phone, but it didn’t seem to give a difference at all in any stance and I was still put on medication and to disband myself untreated by the end of the day just to resume silence with myself when I was calmer. The problem is to understand when does the tipping point begin and with him it becomes a question of sole juggling as he drops me off at home and then I just sleep even more in my bed, barely tucked in and Archie in my face.  And knowing some small chance is over by sheer stupidity and lack of acting from yourself is disappointing and worth sleeping more than three days in for. Because life tends to make sure everyone has an expiry date, we might have made up the concept of time, but death was surely given to us. Along with the ability of stopping to care, only I don’t know where to pull since I’m still believing, ruthlessly. 

-

I ended up combing two chapters and writing a bit. It's always hard to write for stories which have really small chapters since I jump from chapters which are 3.6 k to 300 words frankly xD 

My hand has randomly decided to fuck up, so my hand hasn't been working too well (and I mostly write with my right hand) and I'm also wrapped up in a cold and I've been having horrid mood swings, mixed episodes, mania, depression, the full rollercoaster. So it's been hard because I'm so tired to sit down and write, because I go to bed so early now and I tend to write at night. I get scared at times terribly about writing, I dunno why, I just get terrified. But honestly I'm just really drained from the flu. 

This is the last written chapter and I dunno, I get nervous when I don't get feedback, so that's why it's been pushed away for so long. I started writing the next chapter and I think just like now I was in a love depressed state if you must, so that just underlines the Jack/Jamie not happening sort of thing. 

I figured stuffed animals could mean he perhaps hunts as well x)

I also chose this to spare my hand and slowly get back to writing proper back stories, I'll try to go back to my one a day, yay x) 

I think the story speaks for itself and the last bit, adding ruthless I realized that frankly it gives some Baby Ruthless vibe, I guess, so it was quite ambigious to keep it there even if it wasn't intended but makes me think onwards, so kept x) and yeah, I honestly hope you liked it :3

Tell me if you did :3

<3

Jamie

Relationship Values

The earlier you wake up thinking you have a hangover, the earlier you will have it. It’s not even if I drank enough water last night or more alcohol, it becomes the shrouded loneliness with all the assumptions and configurations to make everything sane go wrong. Loneliness was becoming a craft where I had no idea to pin myself down and where. Everything seemed to be scattering by leaving all stores open and all friends lost by the end of the night, that inspiration would only rattle at the night of a toy store. It had started getting out of hand for me, everything seemed to be made for one, as if he had never lived here and I had decided to keep the marriage ring around my neck even if it had been years ago and we had been married for several. 

The mailbox with letters is barely ever pleasant and they’re never filled with news you never want to hear, so maybe that’s why I collect them as early as possible and if needed I just retreat back to bed, to lull on them, mostly due to old divorce papers as all was done at a ridiculous distance neither of us wanted, but did anyway. 

But it wasn’t even about that, it was about finding harmony within oneself and managing through the days without such bitter sour misery. I grabbed the letter, yanking it open, wondering at the official sense of it. Reading it through, I closed it, feeling my body shake and knowing why I hadn’t been contacted by phone and I would need this letter anyway and I was sure that the last days which were given to me without knowing were far from a gift for me to keep sane, but the desire to avoid me for even more days. 

At times you don’t even know if you should even feel sorry, because you never really cared about the person, even if they’re dead and the memories are all wrong for recollection. And I had to speak out if I wanted to keep the house, which I had kept for myself anyway, 

something given but never written in my name. As I walked back into the house, I grabbed my phone, seeing the battery long dead and wondering how long would it even take to turn on. It took a boiled kettle and some coffee to make me even more alert and paranoid, as I felt my shoulders jerk in a sob which I wasn’t even aware of. I leaned against the window, watching some birds chirp easily at the seeds which were left from winter and I wondered what would even be the sign of my own death.

“Lana?” I say, as soon as my sister picks up. I tap my nails against the window. “Yeah. I just got the letter.”

I don’t even ask her regarding why did she not tell me anything and what was holding her down, when I seem to know all the answers anyway and she tells me that she would be over tomorrow and to prepare some bedroom for her, since the process should be over soon, not saying what outcome she had wished on the house and the parent’s house and how the money would be split.

The fear of everything gone wrong is more than the strike of a lightning.

And too many loves become a grape branch, each and every one becoming the same problem as the rest as every single person you’ve loved has stolen your heart and it’s as if every time you grow a new one, for someone else to steal. And it gets worse by calling him, with the belief that his regrets run just as deep, sitting on the floor makes nothing better, as I recall him smoking and drinking wine, as I tell him that I prefer stories left ambiguous, which allow you to know that not everything is told and makes sense in the end, you never know who truly loved you or why you had never confessed besides the daft explanation that fate works like a clock, man-made and senseless. 

And being alone always means exorcising your own demons and it takes me a good few phone calls to even go through to him, with all the words fleeing from me and whatever he would say would make my hands shake, as I can hear him exhale smoke and I can see him, as he would on every morning and I just close my eyes on my own desire to be alone. I know where I land and what I had chosen because I just couldn’t take it anymore, our anxieties clashing far too often. We both listen to each other’s silence as he speaks out once I get the ring from under my shirt and I put it on, as if that would make Jamie finally speak to me verbally and not just through letters, as if his living is more important than some parent’s death which would bring some small fortune for a day. Like in the King for a Day episode of Top Cat.

“Yeah, mom died.” I don’t even sob and I keep looking ahead. “I just needed some help with the papers, since Lana wants her half as I understood, but I need-”

“Can’t you hire a different lawyer?” He sighs and I hear barking in the distance, before he shouts at Archie to calm down. If I was in a different mindset, I would tell myself that the dog misses me too. I shake my head. 

“I know you’ll bother with it-” And I cut him short, my fuse far shorter than his these days even with myself in the room, alone and head between knees, I would destroy the whole room if I could stand up. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to bother with you.”

“So you’d give up the house I grew up in, is that what you’re willing to do, Jamie?” I snarl, clutching the phone harder, I can see him tapping his fingers against his table, pulling his lip afterwards. I hold my mouth, so that he doesn’t have to be reminded. He holds his silence. “The house which I took you in and-”

“Fine.” He snaps.

“I’ll need you after the funeral. Appreciate if you could be at the fun-”

“Yeah, I got an invite too, don’t worry, but can we-”

“Yeah, we will meet after the funeral, don’t worry.” I swallow and then we say our goodbyes and I drop the call, feeling blood leave my body and I just lay under the kitchen counter now, looking at all the scribbles I’ve done, recalling Jamie’s taste all of a sudden, trying not to open a box of memories

because a lost lover consumes less than a tattered family.

I know I’ve given you my heart and you have it, but I don’t see you or my heart for that matter.

-

This story frankly was born because I was sulking too much from Poison the Rose ending and yeah, I've still got to scrap the remains of my soul and publish the last chapter, in the meantime, have this (at this point of existence I have no title for it, I should have it by the end of the backstory xD) 

I was really depressed because I enjoyed the whole androgynous Alison with Lana and some fucked up Jamie backstory so yeah xD I just got sad and I tend to take couples or something and then develop in a different way, I guess an AU fanfic of an AU fanfic? But I really can't say they're much related besides that to be very honest xD 

My mental state has been odd to be honest, so just like I was really depressed while writing the last chapters of Poison the Rose, same happened here and the thoughts of a plot. I was musing because I really wanted a new Alison/Lana and I thought for a few days what could crawl into my head even if I was telling myself to fuck off xD I know, I have a bunch of ongoing stories, I know, I know XD

I still have no title ideas. Anyway, onwards.

Also I was thinking that I do touch death very very often and wills and etc, but I never went on the process or fights if you must regarding if there's no will and etc. So I kind of wanted to touch that topic first and foremost to be honest, then I was either napping or falling asleep and I started thinking of how frankly I wanted a fucked up story, that's how frankly the weirdest things get ever written, so this is supposed to be awfully odd and I guess that's where we touch the incest topic here. In general I like discussing controversy if you must and I've written the oddest of stories back then and I've writen incest before, mostly requests, but either way, I kind of wanted something fucked up and kind of dig on a fucked up family, I'm not one to speak of family as a whole in a bright light besides some people, so that kind of is also one of the backbone's and how I don't think families really work well unless you actually get a good bond over time, but in general it's really fucked up because you're obliged so yeah. 

Another thing which oddly inspired me heavily in to write Alison was she had this interview with junk magazine, I think? It's the one where she talks and has photos of her house and it really struck me as solid solitude, whether it was happy or not it was debatable but that really struck out to me and inspired me ever since I read it to pick up her character even if I'm not fond of her current state and frankly the interview was a terrible disaster, but the solitude struck out to me and the 11 p.m. Toys 'r' Us shopping session not the mini truck and tire tracks, but those things still got to me, even the weirdest of things inspire me and smallest as well. I can get inspired by a milk carton for all I care xD

I don't even recall how exactly I came up with it just now, I just sleepily thought of a sort of cover or whatever with Lana and Alison holding puzzle pieces in their mouths and I was thinking of something puzzle-related, but instead Relationship Values popped in my head because it matched the image and the story, so yeah x) I think it matches it but I get anxious always about titles, so moving on xD

I get dizzy or my head spins rather often when I'm tired and I didn't really have a hungover, but hey, I stylized it for the beginning and I just started writing the story then with that thought xD and yeah, I'm anxious as usual about this story so it's taking me a while to describe everything in the backstory and whatnot xD

Letters may be pleasant or not, but y'know a good letter is always good and you get those, so yeah, but here's kind of looking at the flipside. Only good letters to all by the way xD 

I have no idea where I got the ring around the neck, I had a few images in my head and now I'm like wait, Jamie Hince wears rings around his neck, so yeah xD Anyway, I just wanted the image of some broken metaphor really. 

I guess being a divorce child or whatever category I've been placed in, I don't really touch divorce too often and I kind of I guess wanted to ruffle through my own demons for this story regarding family, divorce, inheritance and etc. Also just fuck things up as usual 8)

I guess maybe some push was Looking's lastest episode where they call Doris to announce the death of her father, but briefly. I think I wrote the story before the episode? My sense of time is fucked over. 

Sometimes I think of backstories or my feelings and thought in perfect sentences in my head and they end up in a stylized way on paper, like the demons thing which Alison thinks of. 

Kind of touching not my nostalgia and memories but rather Alison's backstory or whatnot for some reason the only episode I can recall of Top Cat which I watched as a child was the King for a Day one, I dunno why it sort of went in my head through the years, inspired me by the end even if it were just a line or rather a comparison, so yeah. 

I think Jamie has the biggest diversity of jobs in my story specifically for someone who's spoken loudly about 9 to 5 jobs x) 

I use many tropes and this is... the third story where Alison took Jamie in her house? 

I get angsty obviously on my own reasons and that's where the last sentence slipped in, as I didn't even bother making a direct address on who Alison was thinking of, so yeah.

Tell me if you liked it ;D

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you, honestly, thank you so much

<3

Jamie

Poison the Rose 6

Confessing and all the rituals prior feel like a roll of the dice. 

Just fuck me up.

Let me lay in the bathtub, feeling myself free and broken and underwater, as Jamie sits besides me, reading a newspaper, checking and knowing how much I can hold underwater and I can see him grabbing me from the tub, slipping, knowing that I would be dead and then putting me up straight once he can, to believe that heartbreak from the dead would do nothing

that I would be unbroken porcelain

because I never said I love you enough

because all the snow had melted and spring was gray, muddling through the summer and the winter again with it’s bones with wrong loves, wrong thoughts and wrong card flicks

because you know you can’t do it

Lana would be all the words, even if she were not to know it

because you have faith in those who have loved and carried their strength to their bones which would take longer to rot and then fill up everything around us, slowly to make us breathe when we are dead

I don’t know how to tell her how much I had loved her and walking past the streets and the bars, I had never wished so hard that we had met

met so much before

and I could’ve.

Take me to the streamers with the smell of beer and be there because you weren’t there.

Let me love, knowing.

I wish I could see clearer and I can’t even get myself to look at the evidence which just consists of photos which I had quickly flicked over and descriptions of the cut hair and that was it and my own recollection of holding her, as Jamie dropped the wine. And everything mixed in the snow, as if it could hold it for eternity but only laughing that nothing lasts forever and someone else’s life strangles yours.

Me and Jamie had sat under the streamers and he told me how he had seen a teacher puke out drunk, vomiting and letting children who went out to drink as well and I wondered why had I pictured him on the same square, closer to the colourful streamer street, as we sat, ourselves drinking and the snow hadn’t melted now, but it was pure summer when he told me, both of us in a weird recollection scene where neither discusses their or other’s mistakes. 

So it becomes a way, that any denial of seeing the person makes you wonder who you really are and what have you been before, because now you’ve got to cut it out, the part where you were with the person to understand what had been going on in that cut out photograph. 

And it makes it lonelier to come back to who you were alone and forgiven.

“If you were to die now, what would your thoughts be... regarding death, what would you even be thinking even?” I say, breathing out the smoke as Jamie remains for the night, as I take the couch and he sits on a chair nearby, poking some old magazines we’ve used for collages years ago and it feels like everything should be going back somewhere because you always feel the change, if everything were to end and go red, I’d think it always was like this.

He looks at me, as if we would be discussing someone else’s death.

“I’d probably think...” He pauses, looking away. 

“I’d want to know that Lana loves me.”

“But she did.”

“But if death is nothing, I’d want to die knowing something I would never know again.”

-

I still think it's one of the saddest stories to let go considering that I had entirely fallen with it and kind of changed it dramatically on these last chapters to be honest and I just keep thinking about other stories I could start with Alison/Lana since Disaster isn't one so yeah xD 

I dunno, I guess a lot of the love comes from making Alison androgynous, so that kind of hits home and what made this story good well, which I agreed as I was discussing it with Callie, which she said was that these chapters shed a lot of light on Alison/Jamie which had a weird edge in the beginning. 

I've been awfully manic these past few days so it's been awfully stressful, so that kind of makes stories which were written under previous manic episodes with I guess vivid short imagery. These two chapters were written as I was depressed and I was frankly feeling like shit and I honestly opened to fuck things up xD and here is what happened, really. The dice roll was because I was just feeling angsty and that's where it came from, because you never know what actually happens by the end of your side, as you tell it that is.

I like giving my characters opposite to me opinions like Alison not believing in the afterlife, really. 

I think baths are the new waltzing xD

One of the biggest kind of regrets I always have regarding partners is not having enough past memories, that I never saw them as kids, teenage years in some cases or early teens and that we had just met now, when we could've somehow before, really 

When I was writing this story I wondered how much insight should I give on such things as some things mentioned here, because I really try to stay open in backstories but I'm not too fond of talking regarding people I'm attracted to besides Callie, so yeah, I can shed light on some memories with her, so I thought later, after writing on how much light should I even allow, since I've been a bit of a weird place, I don't speak much of it, but at times I feel uncomfortable on how people end up knowing too much and obsessing over me, so many things end up hidden under wraps, the bare minimum told in a story, but it becomes a conflict because I honestly adore telling what happened where and why. 

Either way, back to the story, many places just strike me in mind, which I end up using, I can't recall but I think I mentioned this specific region of Lisbon in "-" which I'm talking about here, but either way, it kind of inspired me, how me and Callie would sit there drinking and it was always gorgeous and yeah. The teacher story was something Callie had told me as we were walking around, specifically in this square and that kind of stuck to me, I guess coz I imagined the teacher vividly xD

I miss doing collages out of magazines, I should do that, that's why the phrase is there xD

The next chapter is the last and frankly I dunno, I'm trying to do a less spoiling word, but it really explains the whole story as a whole and Lana's death specifically, so it really wraps up all holes and I hope you'll like it as this chapter as the whole story

Please if you liked it, please tell me as I'm freaking out if it's good because I'm honestly shattered that I finished it and I am very very satisfied with the ending and fucking sad xD

Thank you

<3

Jamie