‘ put your head on my shoulder now, and go to sleep. ’
shirley jackson / a.
you’re tired. you’re oh, so tired. the flowers at your feet are so familiar yet distant —– a memory so clear but it doesn’t feel like it belongs to you. your stare is fixed on them, counting the petals one by one in the sea of yellow.
you’ve told them you can’t stay. you want to, but you can’t. you want to have your family again, but you can’t. everyone remembers someone kinder. someone incapable of the things you’ve done. the shame you feel is overshadowed by the fear of knowing that’s who you’ll become again. someone capable of everything you’ve done —– someone that could do it all again. staying away is for the best, but they won’t go. a silent moment passes and you accept their company, raising your head to look at frisk.
* are you sure? * … * do you promise to leave if i fall asleep? i don’t want you to see me.
a hollowness will swallow you again. you’ll lose yourself to an abyss of anger. it’s only a matter of time. but it’s nice to not feel lonely. you don’t wait for an answer. you sit side by side amongst the flowers and you lean your head on their shoulder. perhaps it’s the determination they exude, but you aren’t so afraid anymore.
quiet sets in again, and you begin to recount the petals. you trust that they will, even without an answer —– you know you can trust them. and it wouldn’t hurt to rest. afterall, you’ve been through a lot.
* i told you: i want you to remember me like this…
closing your eyes, you remind them.
* … okay, frisk?
and drift.
