Hell is rumbling; she can feel it between toes and in the veins that used to carry blood. She senses it, like the note under fingertips, screenplay of folly car-riddled boys, and the way he smokes in the car. It's in the cough that won't go away, that damp, mucous feeling in lungs; it's in everyone, and it will disarm everyone. She swears by it.
[[This world is a louse to people. Or maybe it's the other way around, but either way it'll be the other's undoing, because of the instinct- survival. We are jettisoning anything that holds pertinence to history, to life, and doing it by ear; without any sort of perfect pitch to go by.]]
Hes incapable of forcing her to love him. Two years now, and she's a rock, or less than that, a weed. A trifling desire that won't dissipate simply because she doesn't seem to think a thing about him. She's a two-way mirror of indifference; seeing both sides, hearing both sides, living them, but only showing one.
There was a time, when she couldn't look at him, not even go against what he said; she obeyed, and nodded in agreement. Every so often, when it was getting around that time to leave, he'd ask "Are you okay?", it even sounded sincere.
A couple weeks ago, she told him he was on her waiting list of mass murder. And a week after that, he apologized for not calling like he promised, which was the first in a very long while.
' I don't think he knows' she thinks to herself ' that every time he calls, or comes by, she'd love to tell him everything that's wrong, and cry to him, and beg him to come by, but she just simply forgets everything that's going wrong'. It's not even that he's that great of a guy.
But when you try to push someone away, fore you fear what they may be getting themselves into, and they don't falter, they don't leave, not permanently at least, it's hard to forget them. To hate them. To not miss them when they don't call after seeming like your whole world is running itself into the ground.
Because they're supposed to know, God Damn it.
Author notes
Angry blabbing. I need a journal. This really was supposed to be prose-ish, and then well, Hell, it all fell apart.
Comments
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This is about T., I can feel it. It's hard to push someone away, I know that pretty damn well. I went through a few shitty relationships, hm three in a row, and I continued to be in contact with them for a long time after it ended because I did not want it to go away even though it was bad for me. I'm not saying that's how you feel but ... just talking about pushing people away.
"It's in the cough that won't go away"
--swine flu reference? Fuck the H1N1. The good part about it is, even when something sucks SO bad, it gives you inspiration and sometimes, the best inspiration. It can stem the best lines you'll ever write, at least that's how I feel.
"but either way it'll be the other's undoing, because of the instinct- survival"
--this is probably my favourite part because I believe in this. We won't die from the sun burning out or asteroids. No, we'll die because of each other. People, in matter of life or death, will step all over you and eat your flesh. I can see it now. In fact, this is why zombie movies make sense. It shows the utter chaos. Okay, so in almost every zombie movie there is a person in the "main" pack of people who is always arrogant and would sacrifice anyone for his own life. Anyway, at some point it proves this point and the selfish asshole throws a woman or child into the mass of zombies because it was either him or the other. Of course this person always ends up dying in the end because survival and selfishness don't exactly go together. At least I don't think.
That probably makes no sense. I RAMBLE about useless shit.
And I know how it is...
"But when you try ... - ... into the ground"
--it is hard and sometimes it's as if you would rather be hurt over and over again than to go through with leaving them behind and never looking back because you will always wonder where it would go from there.
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You don't ramble, and you make complete sense. It is about him, it was supposed to be about my shitty day, but some how I always revert to him. I think the way you do. People will kill people that's how it's always been. I'm betting there's been more massacred people in wars than natural catastrophes. Just because we like to see others in pain, so we don't have to feel ours. it's sick. Thank you for the comment :=)
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