Status: coming soon.
Support Group for the Forever Alive
keaton.
"Love is conditional."
Fuck anyone who tells you differently.
"Love isn't insatiable."
The others joining him in the circle did not nod, did not agree, but their eyes offered something no one outside the room every could: an inkling of insight.
"You can fuck up and then that's it, y'know? Not just for you, but you can fuck up so badly that you make that person call it quits on love. You can make people stop believing in love."
Eyes wandered, hands fidgeted or fixed stray strands of hair. They weren't listening. They never listened, not really, but they were there, and when he was done speaking, he wouldn't listen to the next person either.
Sometimes it's enough to let someone speak and not even listen to them. Sometimes it's all you need.
"It's just fucked up, y'know? Because I did it all right. I kiss her in the morning and before bed, I always ask, I always listen, I always..."
He stopped.
"That's the problem, I guess. I always. It's literal, and that's so fucking insane but I always. And it scared her."
He'd had an accident at home, a stupid event in all honesty. He'd been cooking her a surprise dinner for her birthday, and amongst chopping up vegetables, he'd fallen and impaled himself through the blade. He remembered passing out. He remembered waking up to her crying, screaming, pulling her phone out of her purse, scrambling to push buttons.
Wait, he'd moaned. He pulled the knife out with a sharp tug and they both watched in terror as the wound closed, the blood retreating like a foreign force defeated. He'd had no idea at the time, that he was like this, that anyone was like this, but it felt natural.
She screamed.
She cried.
She left.
"Always is too damn much, man."
Fuck anyone who tells you differently.
"Love isn't insatiable."
The others joining him in the circle did not nod, did not agree, but their eyes offered something no one outside the room every could: an inkling of insight.
"You can fuck up and then that's it, y'know? Not just for you, but you can fuck up so badly that you make that person call it quits on love. You can make people stop believing in love."
Eyes wandered, hands fidgeted or fixed stray strands of hair. They weren't listening. They never listened, not really, but they were there, and when he was done speaking, he wouldn't listen to the next person either.
Sometimes it's enough to let someone speak and not even listen to them. Sometimes it's all you need.
"It's just fucked up, y'know? Because I did it all right. I kiss her in the morning and before bed, I always ask, I always listen, I always..."
He stopped.
"That's the problem, I guess. I always. It's literal, and that's so fucking insane but I always. And it scared her."
He'd had an accident at home, a stupid event in all honesty. He'd been cooking her a surprise dinner for her birthday, and amongst chopping up vegetables, he'd fallen and impaled himself through the blade. He remembered passing out. He remembered waking up to her crying, screaming, pulling her phone out of her purse, scrambling to push buttons.
Wait, he'd moaned. He pulled the knife out with a sharp tug and they both watched in terror as the wound closed, the blood retreating like a foreign force defeated. He'd had no idea at the time, that he was like this, that anyone was like this, but it felt natural.
She screamed.
She cried.
She left.
"Always is too damn much, man."
♠ ♠ ♠
i'm not sure how this will turn out.