- Local time
- Today 8:09 AM
- Messages
- 412
- Age
- 23
- Location
- Lurking Under the Writing Desk
- Pronouns
- They/He/She
-My eyes flutter open halfway, still trying to block out the sun. The sheets shift around me as I roll onto my back. Half the bed is already made. There's the smell of coffee and bacon in the air. The curtains flutter in the breeze, and the scent of roses it drags in fights the breakfast already there.
-There are fresh cut flowers in a vase on my desk, sunset roses and twigs of yellow and white honeysuckle. The desk is organized for the first time in months. Papers stacked, typewriter reset, inks in a row. The whiteboard is propped against the wall, ' You got this! ' scrawled on it in bright orange, the hearts red.
-I sit up finally, pulling on the jacket which was left folded neatly for me. Large, far too large on me, and mint green, smelling of ocean waters. I hide in it for a moment, just for that scent. I slip my feet into thin pink house shoes, daring to stand for the day and creeping to the kitchen. I cling to the door frame as I lean on it. I listen to the humming and the song I feel I've heard a hundred times by now. I silently laugh at the cats. One is staring up at the counter, sitting neatly and sniffing the air. The other is being fought off, already on the counter and inching ever closer to the food cooling on the stove.
-The next song plays, our song. I listen to his part, eyes closed to focus on it, before interjecting with my part. He looks over startled, crisp blue-green eyes lined with gold and halo-ed in silver. I break into a laugh as Fi succeeds in snagging a piece of bacon, sprinting off with it. "Hey!" He laughs then interrupts himself to continue with the chorus of the song. The harmony is off, but wonderful together all the same. He puts the spatula down, turning the heat off then meeting me at the doorway. He pulls me forward into the kitchen, placing his hands on my hips and swaying to the next song. I rest my head on his chest, trying to breathe in the scent of oceans again.
-Breakfast is wonderful. Omelettes made with pepper-jack cheese and diced tomatoes. Home styled hash-browns in goldened chunks. Bacon, perfectly crisp and in large quantity. A large glass of strawberry milk. I almost can't finish it all. The latest episode of an anime plays on the tv, rpg shenanigans in another world playing out. I lean against him, an arm wrapped around me.
-There's rustling in the kitchen, the open and shut of the fridge and cabinets. I twirl to my own music, the skirt of my dress spinning around me. White flooded with pink and red flowers, short with puff sleeves, a red sash bowed in the back at my waist. I set my brush on the dresser, floofing my hair out behind me before tying it up in a matching red scrunchie. I click clack in my black Mary Janes for a moment happily, sling my purse over my shoulder and glide my hand over the light switch as I leave the room. "Ready?" I nod.
-The sun is warm. There's a spray from the fountains, and the wind scatters droplets over us. There are birds and children laughing. We can pace for hours, talking and talking. We stop at benches, sitting to catch moments before standing again. We eat under the trees. Sandwiches and fruit salad, a soft homemade quilt beneath us. We chase after his hat for a bit, but even when I catch it I run off with it. He catches me in the gazebo, arm around my waist as he easily reaches it in my other hand. His head dips down and the kiss is so soft, so sweet. Short, but not at all. It's very loving. I find myself missing it the second it's gone.
-The drive in the car is relaxing. The radio blaring as we sing our favorite songs. The wind gusting in through the windows causes my hair to whip around me. Fields of tall grass, drying into gold. Then pastures of green filled with horses or cows. I point out chickens and ducks, spotting even a goat. There's no destination; we just drive.
-Dinner is pasta. We sit across from each other, laughing. We critique the food harshly, though we enjoy it all the same. The lights in the restaurant are dimmed for the night. It's cozy and our spot by the kitchen is warm. He moves to sit beside me, sharing jokes and pictures from our phones. He pauses, looking at me. Just staring at me... He places a hand on the table, something held in it. He stutters, stumbles. He gestures for a moment, dropping the black ring case in the floor. I laugh and fluster, face turning hot and red. He fumbles and gets up to retrieve it, turning back to me. He sighs, flashing a charming smile the makes my heart melt. And, he asks.
-That's when it hits me. It strikes straight through my soul. Tears well in my eyes, and I can no longer see. I break down, bawling. He's quick to sit back beside me, an arm around my shoulders. I shrink, trying to disappear, wanting to get away, but.. Trapped. "What's wrong?" I look up at him, staring in those eyes. Warm, loving, concerned.
-"You're not real." And, my whole world shatters. I startle awake. It feels like I've tripped in place. I sit up abruptly, pages stuck to my face. My cat jumps down from the desk and scampers off somewhere. I pull the papers off and place them back on the desk, starting to rub at my eyes with one hand. My other hand recoils quickly, cold and damp with black ink.
-Papers are scattered across the desk. An ink bottle has been tipped over, pooling and traveling slowly. It mingles and mixes with spilled coffee. They both stain several pages and drawings. The whiteboard is sideways, smudged and erased. The vase full of ink pens and quills, but tipped over so that they're falling out. There's a page halfway typed on on the typewriter, full of typos and mistakes.
-I curl my nails into my palms, chewing my lower lip while the tears well up. I try to fight them. I know it's useless to. One blink, and they all escape. Sobs squeak out as well. I desperately rub at my face again and again and again, ink smudging across my left cheek.
-No. It'd never be real. It's all fake. It'll always be fake. An elaborate escape from reality. An attempt to grasp something that's not mine. To be there. Anywhere but here. A ballroom. A tavern. Parties. Dates. Desperately searching. I put myself in different shoes again and again and again. Being anyone who isn't me and searching desperately for something, anything that feels right. But, no matter how lost I get or who I try to be.. I always wake up in reality. I'm creating ghosts to haunt myself. Shaping clouds to chase them. Confusing myself with all I try to be. Completely lost. Homesick in my own home. And trapped in a cage I created... All just to cope.
-There are fresh cut flowers in a vase on my desk, sunset roses and twigs of yellow and white honeysuckle. The desk is organized for the first time in months. Papers stacked, typewriter reset, inks in a row. The whiteboard is propped against the wall, ' You got this! ' scrawled on it in bright orange, the hearts red.
-I sit up finally, pulling on the jacket which was left folded neatly for me. Large, far too large on me, and mint green, smelling of ocean waters. I hide in it for a moment, just for that scent. I slip my feet into thin pink house shoes, daring to stand for the day and creeping to the kitchen. I cling to the door frame as I lean on it. I listen to the humming and the song I feel I've heard a hundred times by now. I silently laugh at the cats. One is staring up at the counter, sitting neatly and sniffing the air. The other is being fought off, already on the counter and inching ever closer to the food cooling on the stove.
-The next song plays, our song. I listen to his part, eyes closed to focus on it, before interjecting with my part. He looks over startled, crisp blue-green eyes lined with gold and halo-ed in silver. I break into a laugh as Fi succeeds in snagging a piece of bacon, sprinting off with it. "Hey!" He laughs then interrupts himself to continue with the chorus of the song. The harmony is off, but wonderful together all the same. He puts the spatula down, turning the heat off then meeting me at the doorway. He pulls me forward into the kitchen, placing his hands on my hips and swaying to the next song. I rest my head on his chest, trying to breathe in the scent of oceans again.
-Breakfast is wonderful. Omelettes made with pepper-jack cheese and diced tomatoes. Home styled hash-browns in goldened chunks. Bacon, perfectly crisp and in large quantity. A large glass of strawberry milk. I almost can't finish it all. The latest episode of an anime plays on the tv, rpg shenanigans in another world playing out. I lean against him, an arm wrapped around me.
-There's rustling in the kitchen, the open and shut of the fridge and cabinets. I twirl to my own music, the skirt of my dress spinning around me. White flooded with pink and red flowers, short with puff sleeves, a red sash bowed in the back at my waist. I set my brush on the dresser, floofing my hair out behind me before tying it up in a matching red scrunchie. I click clack in my black Mary Janes for a moment happily, sling my purse over my shoulder and glide my hand over the light switch as I leave the room. "Ready?" I nod.
-The sun is warm. There's a spray from the fountains, and the wind scatters droplets over us. There are birds and children laughing. We can pace for hours, talking and talking. We stop at benches, sitting to catch moments before standing again. We eat under the trees. Sandwiches and fruit salad, a soft homemade quilt beneath us. We chase after his hat for a bit, but even when I catch it I run off with it. He catches me in the gazebo, arm around my waist as he easily reaches it in my other hand. His head dips down and the kiss is so soft, so sweet. Short, but not at all. It's very loving. I find myself missing it the second it's gone.
-The drive in the car is relaxing. The radio blaring as we sing our favorite songs. The wind gusting in through the windows causes my hair to whip around me. Fields of tall grass, drying into gold. Then pastures of green filled with horses or cows. I point out chickens and ducks, spotting even a goat. There's no destination; we just drive.
-Dinner is pasta. We sit across from each other, laughing. We critique the food harshly, though we enjoy it all the same. The lights in the restaurant are dimmed for the night. It's cozy and our spot by the kitchen is warm. He moves to sit beside me, sharing jokes and pictures from our phones. He pauses, looking at me. Just staring at me... He places a hand on the table, something held in it. He stutters, stumbles. He gestures for a moment, dropping the black ring case in the floor. I laugh and fluster, face turning hot and red. He fumbles and gets up to retrieve it, turning back to me. He sighs, flashing a charming smile the makes my heart melt. And, he asks.
-That's when it hits me. It strikes straight through my soul. Tears well in my eyes, and I can no longer see. I break down, bawling. He's quick to sit back beside me, an arm around my shoulders. I shrink, trying to disappear, wanting to get away, but.. Trapped. "What's wrong?" I look up at him, staring in those eyes. Warm, loving, concerned.
-"You're not real." And, my whole world shatters. I startle awake. It feels like I've tripped in place. I sit up abruptly, pages stuck to my face. My cat jumps down from the desk and scampers off somewhere. I pull the papers off and place them back on the desk, starting to rub at my eyes with one hand. My other hand recoils quickly, cold and damp with black ink.
-Papers are scattered across the desk. An ink bottle has been tipped over, pooling and traveling slowly. It mingles and mixes with spilled coffee. They both stain several pages and drawings. The whiteboard is sideways, smudged and erased. The vase full of ink pens and quills, but tipped over so that they're falling out. There's a page halfway typed on on the typewriter, full of typos and mistakes.
-I curl my nails into my palms, chewing my lower lip while the tears well up. I try to fight them. I know it's useless to. One blink, and they all escape. Sobs squeak out as well. I desperately rub at my face again and again and again, ink smudging across my left cheek.
-No. It'd never be real. It's all fake. It'll always be fake. An elaborate escape from reality. An attempt to grasp something that's not mine. To be there. Anywhere but here. A ballroom. A tavern. Parties. Dates. Desperately searching. I put myself in different shoes again and again and again. Being anyone who isn't me and searching desperately for something, anything that feels right. But, no matter how lost I get or who I try to be.. I always wake up in reality. I'm creating ghosts to haunt myself. Shaping clouds to chase them. Confusing myself with all I try to be. Completely lost. Homesick in my own home. And trapped in a cage I created... All just to cope.
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