i’m not always like this. / from beckalish
𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐤. i’ve seen you when you’re not. we’ve spent the day together, you know — you walk blindly through the streets of the village and you don’t even look back at who might be following… you really are too trusting sometimes. but don’t worry — we’ll work on that. when we’re closer. when we’re closer, i’ll buy you some blinds. you shouldn’t be showcasing that stretch of skin under your shirt to just anyone, i mean — jesus christ, beck. you think you’d learn. any kind of pervert could be watching you through your window.
why are you so sad, beck? you’re so sad. you’re syIvia goddamn pIath sad and i just want to know why. because if i know why, i can help you. and if i can help you, you won’t look so goddamn wounded all the time. i want to help, beck. let me stroke your hair while you cry into my shoulder, because you know i’m safe. i’m good, old, safe joe. i’m the one, beck. and i know we’re probably not there yet, and it’s okay not to admit it, because in time, you will. and it’ll be just that much sweeter when you do.
“hey. it’s okay.” you’re drunk. and upset. but you really should be more careful, beck — you never know what kind of man’s skulking around at night. because it’s definitely not the type you should be seeing.
“let’s get you some water, alright?” because your nose is running, and your eyes are red and tired, and your skin goes blotchy when you cry… you still manage to look beautiful. and one day i’ll tell you that. one day, when we grow old and grey and you buy orthopaedic shoes because they’re easier on your back, and i’m on some goddamn heart medication, i’ll do what i always do: i’ll stroke your hair, and hold you, and you’ll laugh and cry and everything’ll be right.
but first: water.
i make a great boyfriend. sure, i’ve got my baggage. but who doesn’t? you take it from me — you’re welcome, by the way — and when you drink it, i shuffle closer. i’m here for you, beck. let me in. let me help.
“luckily for you, i am always like this.” boyfriend of the fucking century. you’ll understand, when you see the other kinds of guys that are into you. god, beck. you had such bad taste in men before me. i’m glad you’ve changed.
“you wanna talk about it?”
i’m leaving it up to you. because if candace taught me one thing, it’s that i can’t push it. i can’t try and control our everythingship — cute, right? using it in a real sentence. i’m leaving it open, because even if you don’t tell me, one day, you will.
meme.
