5.20.13
I met a girl.
d e v o n
Claire Keane
KIROKAZE
Sade Olutola
we're not kids anymore.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
todays bird

No title available
AnasAbdin

shark vs the universe
Mike Driver
tumblr dot com
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
No title available

pixel skylines
styofa doing anything

⁂

blake kathryn

JVL
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from T1
seen from Indonesia
@alexeis-journal
5.20.13
I met a girl.
5.19.13
Read a fiction WWI book. Angels in the Gloom. It was alright. I'll probably finish the series. A little confusing.
* Turns out I read book #3 first. No wonder there were a lot of unexplained moments.
5.17.13
And if you're going to leave
make it quick
because the longer
you take
the slower you move
the more I hurt
the more I break
and I'm not sure
how much of that
I can take
5.16.13
Fuck nightmares.
5.18.13
The U.S. really should have greater incentives for becoming a citizen. Or, do away with such strict standards--why is citizenship important anyway? I don't have enough room to rant. But I could.
The U.S. could use help. Again, if only I was czar
5.15.13
Step on a Crack by Patterson. Two page long chapters? Really?
5.13.13
I have faced being loved by you and being left by you
Hell will be no challenge.
5.14.13
Taxes.
5.12.13
Books translated into Russian are incredibly hard to find when you live in a small city.
Books translated into Russian are incredibly hard to find when you live in a big city.
Unless that city is in Russia.
5.11.13
Why do kids exist? I know why, but really… why do they have to be so fucking stupid? I want to petition to have kids just start out smart.
Fuck.
5.10.13
How should we hold mentally impaired people accountable to their actions if they can't control their actions? How do we determine how capable they really are? Moral levels of this?
5.9.13
She hadn't moved for years. Her body was heavy, and cold… so cold. Every ounce of heat had been stripped from her body but she couldn't muster the strength to get up and warm herself. The only source of warmth came from a small boy pressed to her side.
Why was it cold inside? It should've been warmer. The boy didn't move--maybe he felt heavy too. Though she willed herself, she couldn't speak. Why did her body not work?
Baby. Baby! She was yelling but he couldn't hear her. Or was she not making any sound? His little hand was wrenched in her shirt and all she wanted was to reach out and touch it. Those perfect little hands of her son--her world. Why would he not listen? Why could she not move?
No.
Who were they? Why were those men coming into their home? She couldn't get up to push them out and her throat burned with the desire to yell. I'm here, don't cry she wanted to say to her baby. Don't be afraid. I'm here. But the men couldn't hear her, either; or they didn't care. They were taking her son! His small body writhing against them. He knew; he had to know that she was still there.
Don't take him! Don't take him away from me. He's all I've got! But they were gone as quickly as they had come, her baby with them. Why couldn't she move?!
She cried. Her energy waning in the struggle against her own body's unwillingness. Move! Move! Her anger and frustration, her fear, finally ripped out of her throat in a scream.
That made a sound. She made a sound. If she could do that, she could move. She could go find her baby. Move. Her passion burned through her chest but the rest of her body felt numb to it. As much as she willed herself, she still could not move. After a moment, she stopped trying, her perseverance wavering in exhaustion and defeat. What if she could never get up? Never get her son back? She stared blankly at the ceiling above her, cursing the body that failed to cooperate. She prayed the roof would fall--crushing her; ending her torment. The suffering that, as of now, looked to have no end.
She just wanted to find her baby. There were tears rolling down her face and the sensation made her shiver.
No. Wait. She could feel it. A strained laugh came mingled with a sob and the sound filled the apartment. She could feel--she could make sound. But… Her hand jerked in an uncontrolled spasm as she tried to move it and the result was another choked cry. She could move. She could get her son--go find him--make sure he was safe. Move.
She worked to come into herself; seeing that her body still worked and that she could control it. Bring the large, wild movements to something more precise. She needed to get up. She wouldn't be able to go anywhere if she didn't get up. But the idea of standing--supporting her weight enough to stay upright--had her breathing heavy. She was just getting the hang of her arms; how was she supposed to walk? Slowly, she rolled over; chest heaving from the effort and muscles straining against her own weight. The floor was soaked, and the unpleasant chill against her flesh encouraged her to work harder.
With uneasy steps and several strained and failed attempts, she was on her knees. Like an infant learning to walk again, the process was slow and frustrating. She yelled; anger at herself and her inability. But she was standing. How long had it been? Hours? Days? It seemed like an eternity since those men had come and taken her life away. She would take him back. Taking a step was a task that was almost unfathomable. She could barely stand--to more further? She had to leave the apartment if she was going to get her baby back. Inches at a time, one painstaking step after another.
Then she was running with renewed energy stemming from only one thought: success. She yelled his name--looking around the faces on the street. Looking for him--for the men in uniforms that had taken him. No one was familiar. They wouldn't help her. They wouldn't even look. Didn't someone care?
I'm still here, baby. I'm coming.
She prayed he could hear her. Don't be afraid. He needed to hear her.
---
No one knew where he had been taken, and the hopelessness threatened to drive her back to her knees. But she refused to give up until she found her baby. He needed to know she was okay and that she cared: What kind of mother would she be if she just left him?
"He's probably better off."
Her attention snapped to the other woman. A scowl crossed her face. Her question had gone unanswered, instead having been offered the unwanted comment. He wasn't better without her. Children needed their mothers. Just because she wasn't perfect…
She turned away; looking for anyone else to ask. She was running out of time and she knew it. How long had it been since she'd last seen him? His little face and his hands tightened around her shirt. It felt like forever. Months? It had to beat this point. No matter what, she would never give up.
Ahead, it was like a sign; the large letters over the door drawing her in. She hadn't come here before because the thought seemed stupid. An orphanage? That was a place for little boys and girls without parents. He had one! He had her. She refused to believe her baby would be taken there and rather than try she scoffed at it and turned away. Someone would help her find her son--she just had to try harder.
A uniformed man walked the street ahead of her. She ran to catch him, waving to get his attention. "Please," She pleaded, "Have you seen my baby? There men--two of them--they took him away. Help me, please!" Her control wavered and a sob choked her last word. The officer looked to her; evaluating her with a perceptive eye. He replied after a pause and the sound shook her so badly she thought she might lose her balance. It was a deep laugh; a sound that bubbled from the pit of his stomach.
He shoved her away. "You? A mother?" He laughed, looking her over again. With a shake of his head, he left her to stand on the side of the road. Alone. Time passed. Hours. Days. Years piled on her and still she could not find her baby; but she tried. Always, she tried. Once again, she was drawn to the large building that she'd always been certain she would never find him.
He had a mother. He had her. He wasn't an orphan and he certainly didn't belong here. Her steps were slow and cautious. A woman sat behind a desk.
"May I help you?" She asked.
"I'm looking for my baby." An old picture was slid from her pocket and placed on the counter. It was as used and worn as she was, but it was all she had.
"We don't have your baby, we only have orphans." The woman started to say, but she looked at the tattered picture anyway. Before the mother could respond, the lady behind the counter was sitting up. "Oh! I remember him."
"You do?! Where is he?" She'd surged forward, hands spread on the desk in attempt to get as close as possible to the worker that knew her son; her baby. She bit her tongue to keep from asking again when the answer was not instantaneous. The silence dragged for longer than she wanted it to. What felt like hours passed and finally the woman spoke.
"Yes, I remember him. But he's not a baby anymore, by any means. He's a young man."
"I want to see him! I need him--he needs me. Bring him here." Desperation edged her words and made her tense. Close to bursting as she looked around for the little boy that had been taken from her.
The worker shook her head, though quickly explained to avoid the negative reaction that was sure to come if she was silent. "I'm sorry," She started, and already the woman looked up upset. "He's an adult now. He's not here. Only kids can stay with us."
"But he's is my kid." She protested in a wail.
"I think…" The worker struggled to be heard above the cries of the woman. "I think he works nearby."
She was silenced, instantly focused again. Her hands shook, wanting to shake information from the worker. "Tell me where. Where is my baby?" Her blood boiled at the fact that they--that this woman--did not protect her son. Her sweet, innocent little boy. Why did no one find her? Why did they not bring him back? Why did they take him in the first place? He wasn't theirs; he was hers, and she would get him back. She would let him know she was still there.
"I don't know where he works, exactly. I know it's in town. But it's not big. You should be able to find him easily." She nodded her encouragement to the woman. It went unnoticed, as the woman was already at the door; pushing out into the street.
Her actions were frantic now as she moved from building to building. Her eyes searched for the familiar face of her child and calling out his name. To know she was so close to him, after all this time. She would not rest until she found him. Knowing that he was almost close enough to touch made her weak. She'd looked for him without stopping from the instant that she'd pulled herself up off the floor. Determination was often the only thing that kept her going no matter how many times she'd been told that she wouldn't find him.
But he was here! The worker at the orphanage said so. He was here and she would let nothing stop her from finding him now. So she ran on. Pushing through doors and asking anyone who would listen if they knew her baby. Her son, now a young man.
Would he remember her? Fear that the answer might be 'no' stilled her a moment. What if, after all this time he didn't even want her? What if he didn't know her? A tremor seized her, a cry bursting from her throat. What if it'd been too long? Was all her searching in vain?
Perhaps she had lost her baby for real when those men had taken him away; no hope of getting him back, even if she could find him. He wasn't hers anymore and the feeling that came with it brought her to her knees.
What was she supposed to do? Would looking for him be selfish if he was fine without her?
"Mom?"
The soft, sweet voice drew her attention immediately. She was looking up into blue eyes and a face so painfully familiar that it pulled all the air out of her lungs.
"Baby…" It didn't seem real, the way his arms wrapped around her and pulled her to her feet. They embraced--an act they'd waited for years to do. Neither wanted to let go, but they didn't need to.
For all the time apart, they were finally together again. They were finally a family.
Dead people stay dead.
5.8.13
I close my eyes expecting things to change I open them and everything is the same.
that
is insanity
5.7.13
When did historical accuracy in fiction become a suggestion and not a requirement? I get that fantasy and shit is a whole different thing. But for everyone else--can you at least try? Fiction doesn't mean stupid. It can be a well written, thought out, realistic story.
But no. Apparently the idea of research escapes some people. This is why so few new books are good.
5.6.13
I was trapped in silence, and I mean that in the most God like manner. as in every molecule came to a standstill the moment I met you, and since you left, time has never restarted itself, you were forever present, much like silence, or God, always surrounding me everywhere I went and sometimes I'd make you slip from my mind to give myself a moment of clarity, but in the end, silence never leaves,
Does it?
5.5.13
Why do people assume standing on a street corner and yelling about candidates or politics or right and wrong will make me change my mind about anything?
5.4.13
The book suggestion I got from the douchebag was pretty good.
Don't tell him that.