edydontfckwit12:
Edy’s eyes lit up as she listened to his beautiful words. Edy had always been interested in the inner workings of artists, writers, and thinkers alike. It was one of the reasons she chose to study philosophy. The only reply she could think of was to softly nod her head along with his thoughts, enthralled by his perspective. Her wide eyed concentration was only broken as he mentioned his nerves. She couldn’t relate. Edy had lived a life where connection to strangers was often the only thing that had kept her alive, but that didn’t make her trusting. She wasn’t nervous, she was cautious.
Brows knitted together as she listened carefully to Kiss pronouncing his name. “Kismat.” She repeated. “Kiss. I like that.” After tucking away her drawings Edy took to sitting in the seat next to him. Crosslegged as if she was on the floor even though she sat in a seat. A bad habit: Trying to make herself look as small as possible. “I just draw what I see… Although sometimes I see things that aren’t there.” The confession slipped from her tongue without any thought about its recourse. Her eyes fell to the table for a moment as she tried to hide her embarrassment. “Not like I hallucinate… Although maybe they would be considered hallucinations…” She seemed conflicted on the issue. “I see sounds as colors, and shapes. Sometimes I can even hear the music when I’m looking at things.” She bit her lower lip to stop the word vomit that had began to come out. She needed a nap. “Is it your first novel?” She finally asked getting ahold of her train of thought.
“Y-you pronounced Kismat p-pretty well. Not bad at all,” he compliments, his reaction to people pronouncing it well being a complete 180 turn in contrast to anyone pronouncing it wrong. It elates him to hear his given name spoken off the lips of others, making him feel grounded and present—making him feel real.
“Perception is an in-interesting thing,” he responds, his mind immediately going to imagination at her words rather than hallucination. It may be because his own mind tends to work the same way. “W-when I was in grade school, I-I would imagine ch-characters I made walking alongside me while I walked h-home from school. Had conversations with th-them, too. It helped me get to know them s-so that I could b-b-better write their stories.” He gives her an assuring smile and adds, “You’ve got the m-m-mind of an artist, no doubt.” He pulls at the folded edge of the notebook paper opened before him, straightening it out. “Yeah, m-my first. I-I just hope people who do read it c-can take something from it, even if t-they don’t partic-particularly like it.”
