#brick writes

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

I perchance posted a jrwi fic on ao3

It's fnc soulmates au go read it and tell me what you think :}

https://archiveofourown.org/works/75249776

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

Every Song

I don’t want to write about you anymore. But even though your memory hurts, it still inspires me. So I’m sorry every song is about you, I don’t mean or really even want them to be about you but somehow you’re all I can think about. Because everything comes back to you. My favorite pen is a gift from you. You’re the one who showed me my favorite place to clear my mind. When I change my earrings I remember getting them pierced with you. I still cut my hair the same way because you said it looked good this way. Every time I hold my bass, I remember your hands guiding mine, teaching me the chords, how to slap the strings without the pads of my fingers hurting as much. I can’t look at my keyboard without seeing you playing it, smiling with your hair in your face and head nodding to the time. Your horrible hands are in everything I enjoy, holding my poor heart and watching it bleed.

I really miss you. I can’t help it. If I could, don’t you think I would have moved on by now? You know me, you were right when you said I hold heartache tighter than I hold grudges. Yeah, I’m a little mad you couldn’t be bothered to break up with me in person or even give me a proper goodbye but well… I’m really just sad you didn’t love me enough to look me in the eye when you let me go. “I’m leaving.” You couldn’t wait for me to get back in state, you just had to pack your things while I visited my parents of all times and run away leaving two words and a terrible emptiness behind. If it weren’t for the smallest things, the hair still stuck in my rug, the pictures in my phone, the shirts you stole, the spare fitted sheet only you cared enough to learn how to fold neatly, the earring you lost last year, and the books you organized by topic then author’s last name, I might get to keep my dignity and forget you were ever here at all. 

Isn’t that funny? Everything comes back to you somehow and yet you still have haunt my home through the damnedest little things too. You’ve been gone for two months now and I’m still finding traces of you. Your side of the bedroom still smells like your elderberry and peppermint perfume. It makes me sick, floods my head with the times we were close enough for me to smell it: your hand on my waist in a clumsy waltz through our living room, your teeth in my neck on our bed, your lips on mine in the kitchen waiting for the curry to thicken, your head on my shoulder as we watched your favorite movie again. 

I hope I’m haunting you too, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing. I hope you still smell me on the shirts you stole. I hope you still have to pick my cat’s hair out of the sweater you crocheted on my couch. I hope you can’t cook the recipes I taught you without me. I hope you imagine the stickers on my keyboard over every piano you touch. I hope you miss me too, miss my cat, miss my warmth, my soft blankets, my bed, my cooking, my perfume, my voice, my hands, my fucking heart. I know I miss yours. I catch myself watching old videos of us, crying quietly while I try to tune into your raspy coffee whispered harmonies, looking for dumb midnight voice messages, going through every photo album, every picture of you, every moment, every memory. 

I miss the way you made me feel. You were an adventure every day, exciting in every way. You felt like living, like sitting by a fireplace in winter, like watching the sun rise, like dancing in the rain, like being loved. But you left me without a hug or last look. A text and no answer to any question at all. Do you know how much that hurts? Yes, it’s your choice to leave, I’ll respect that, but it’s not your choice to run away without any sort of farewell for me. You didn’t even leave a note on the counter, didn’t decide to use more than two words to end two years of happiness, just left as soon as I was gone long enough not to notice you getting ready to go. I stood staring at the key you left behind for ages, thinking to myself what you meant when you said you were leaving. Because surely you would spare me the indignity of silent signs of your disappearance and tell me why you wanted to go, wouldn’t you? No, of course not. When it was important you only knew how to run away. Would it have changed your mind if you watched me cry? Was your resolve too weak to survive a hug goodbye? To see me smile at you and fall apart in mere moments when you broke my heart, would that have made you stay? Or would it make you feel remorse instead? Because you should feel guilty for the way you left me. But I guess I’ll never know much more than the emptiness you didn’t care enough to explain leaving me with. So I’ll tuck the memories we shared away, I’m keeping them, but I don’t need to see them right now. In fact, I hate them. But I know when I’m alright again I’ll want to remember how happy I was. Stay there, in the nightstand you used to put your nightly book on, and I’ll let myself love again, let me live my life, let me patch the hole you left, and look at those memories with a smile knowing I’ve matured past missing someone who runs away from their problems before trying to solve them. Goodbye, I hope you’re happy wherever you went. 

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

Find Me in Your Dreams And Never Fall Asleep

Do you know that I fall to my knees every time I hear your melody? That I lose every single wisp of strength I have because I know it will never be your voice singing to me.

Do you know that I sit by your still body every day, singing your song? Because I can’t help but hope that you can hear me. And that maybe one day you’ll wake up and sing to me once again. I look back at you even though it hurts. It hurts to see you sleep so peacefully. I always wished you would before because I knew it was always nightmares that moved you in your sleep. But I suppose now you’ll never have another again.

I miss your endless energy, your bright smile that outshone even the sun. I miss running after you even if I always had to clean up your messes. I miss the life you brought to every room. I hate seeing you so still. This peace is unbecoming of you. Perhaps it is something we always wanted before but now it is more of a curse than the blessing we sought.

Do you know that we have lined your coffin with your favorite flowers and tucked you in with the baby blanket your grandmother made you all those years ago? We have tried to give you every comfort while you sleep because you cannot wake. We made your coffin of glass to let you feel the dappled sunlight on your skin. We have surrounded you with glorious plants in the greenhouse you tended to like they were your kin. I have filled it with butterflies and bees to tend to your flowers while you rest. I have seen to it that everything you have left behind is well taken care of. Everything but me.

Do you know that I cannot sleep as long as I know you cannot wake up? Do you know that darkness collects around my eyes as I never close them for more than a moment? That the longest I ever close my eyes is when I cry.

Do you ever hear me? Do you ever feel the sunlight on your face? Or the sound of gentle rain pit pattering on the glass walls of our greenhouse? Do you like the flowers I have laid you amongst? 

Do you know that I’m losing myself every moment I stay awake? Every second turns into a decade and every decade turns into a millennium. I have not rested for ages. Years pass and all I can do is hope everything I have done to comfort you is enough.

I have told you time and time again but do you know? Really, do you know how I miss you? You must know that I miss you so, so dearly.

I want to beg and pray and cry and perhaps when my tears soak the earth and my pleas ring through the sky the gods will finally take pity on me and wake you once again. Or perhaps instead I should fall asleep too. And perhaps in my dreams I shall be with you again. Close my eyes forevermore and rot in the soil surrounding you. It’s all I want. To rot with you. To stop watching your eternally youthful flesh and allow mine to be mortal once again.

Do you know that you are all I have left now? This greenhouse is my world, and it all revolves around you. Do you know that after being awake for decades I can’t even tell what’s real anymore? Because sometimes I turn to you and for a moment, only a moment, but so haunting is that moment, your eyes are hollow and the flowers you lay in have wilted and the magic we had has worn out. Perhaps it’s been gone for centuries and I just couldn’t bear to think that you’re really gone so I let my hallucinations cover your corpse like a blanket of loving lies.

This is real, isn’t it? Would I leave you even if I knew it wasn’t? Probably not. After all, who else will sing to you? Who else will remember you? Who else will listen to me? Who else will love me as I am? Only you my dear. Only you.

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

Rainy Waltz

I thought my day couldn’t get any worse but when it started raining all of a sudden… it didn’t.

My first thought was that I really should have checked the weather before leaving but maybe it’s a good thing that I didn’t.

Because when I looked up at those gray skies I could see much more than the gentle spring rain collecting on my glasses. I could see sunlight shining through the thinner clouds. I could hear the soft patter of raindrops on the umbrellas of wiser people. But maybe they weren’t wiser than me, because it was when I could feel the tiny kisses of water on my face that I was connected to myself in a way I had never been before.

So I ran home jumping in puddles and splashing my way through the rain and danced like never before. It was like life itself was in the drops that spilled from the sky. It invigorated me, through my skin and hair and heart the water went, bringing an ecstasy to breathing.

Every step felt like flowers bloomed in my wake. Every breath was crisp like a fresh apple or ice water in the summer sun. Every drop was cool and comforting like mint and watermelon.

I was graced by a dance, a waltz of water with the soft pitter patter of rain a melody with which we kept time. I didn’t mind any eyes watching with the air itself as my partner and the rain my gown.

It was when I was soaked to the bone in the liquid of life that I was most myself. It was when I had done as my ancestors before me had done as well that my steps were guided without word or hand, only instinct.

And as every step was accentuated by splashes I spun above the sidewalk and sung to myself with the sky’s chorus surrounding me. When the rain stopped I came to my front door giggling quietly to myself.

To anyone else I might look like I just had the worst day. And maybe I did, but the rain washed it away.

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

Impermanence

My God, how the days grew few.

I miss you today, I'll miss you still tonight.

There was so much we wanted to do.

My God, how the days grew few.

You had to go one day. I knew.

But I wanted us to last, alright?

My God, how the days grew few.

I miss you today. I'll miss you still tonight.

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

Nails

CW: suicidality

I could not write anything, no letter nor text nor suicide note long or articulate enough to make you understand the pain that grips me when we have the same exact misery filled conversation for the fiftieth time.

I could make no media, no film nor novel that could properly depict the suffering, the inadequacy, the smallness, the guilt, and the powerlessness that I feel when you speak to me as if I am a slowing race horse you are ready to send to the glue factory.

I listen to you hammering in yet another nail in this coffin, telling me about its necessity. But as I pushed against the board above me throughout the process I knew that even the first twenty five of one hundred and seventy three was already excessive.

I cannot even summon the strength to claw myself out. As desperately as I would like to cling to life and the light of day, I fear the shadow you cast over me is far too vast and far too cold to hold on to the hope that I could possibly escape it while I rot in my childhood "home".

I have given up on you. And I refuse to forgive you for damaging me so. Because you refuse to listen to me, you no longer deserve my forgiveness and you do not deserve my grace. I am saving it for myself instead.

I am listening and waiting for you to leave the grave you have made for me. I am breaking through to the wood you cracked with your excessive nails. I am moving through the dirt you buried me with and gathering it beneath my nails as I claw my way to the light your shadow no longer obstructs. I hope to never need you again. One day you will only be able to speak to me on my terms. When your puppet strings finally fray and I am free, you will miss me terribly. But not for a moment will I miss you.

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

Where Tears Have Been

Tears hide within every place I have stayed for any more than a short while.

In my bed, on my pillows, the cases are familiar with tears. The blankets too. They hear my muffled screams and cries most often. Their soft warmth doing what little they can to comfort me. I lie down and try however unsuccessfully to sleep. I wish it came easier to me.

In my car, on the wheel and on the seats, is leather only slightly acquainted with tears. The speaker plays music with lyrics that hit close to home. Songs I scream as some sort of release. I turn the car off and think: there are few good places to scream.

On my friend, their shirt, the fabric of the shoulder and chest have absorbed my tears too. I pass my burdens onto them and hope they can forgive me for my flaws and shortcomings. I wonder if they still love me like this.

On the cuffs of my sleeves. I wipe my tears. And when I am ready I sit up and breathe and pick up the mess that I am. Then I go out and pretend that my sorrow is not nearly as all consuming as it feels. I go out and I wonder who sees past the mask I've spent so long polishing. I should take it off more often. Though… I fear what people would think of me if they see what lies beneath.

In my journal, every so often, is a page gently warped by dried tears. I write there, a healthy coping mechanism I started to commit myself to after my high school graduation. A book containing the horrible vulnerable truth. It's a record of thoughts and feelings and private moments in my room fighting with my feelings, letting them out, trying my best to understand them, and waiting for the ink that holds such moments to dry before tucking the old pages away. I worry what would happen if anyone were to read that wretched book.

On my desk, the smooth surface has been wiped clean of dust and debris and tears. I've laid my head on it many nights and sobbed to myself. I worked studiously and suffered, staring at concepts I knew I wouldn't retain or understand enough to pass the next exam. There is where it is easiest to imagine failure. Staring at that screen full of percentages, mathematical representations of my understanding, all lackluster at best and panic inducing at worst. I hope I am not the failure I seem to be.

On the carpet of my apartment. I collapse and lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling as my eyes become wells. Funny how I was happy mere moments ago when my friends were still here. I imagine I'm not the only one crying on the floor of their apartment.

On the roof of a tall building, I look out at the city and imagine my death. How would it affect the people I love? I see them weeping. I see my parents. I see my friends. I see myself, the dark spots by my feet where they fall: tears. I decide against doing something reckless. I now see reason. I would hate to be another source of pain in my friends' lives.

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

Saint

I am the patron saint of houses. Houses, not homes. I know for certain that home is where the heart is; because I have lost mine long ago. Wherever I go, I am followed by a resounding emptiness. The silence in the cavern where my heart would be echoes far beyond my empty chest.

When you come back to the house you grew up in where your parents fight and your old bedroom rots, I hear you. I am in the air of your sigh as you set your bag down, unpacking the clothes that don't feel quite right in your room. And when you go somewhere new, I too feel the cold water of the shower, its dial turned the wrong way while adjusting to a different bathroom. In my bones I feel the rattle of the air conditioning unit that keeps you up at night. In my weary heart I feel your relief in leaving and the anxiety of new things.

I am sorry that your house is not a home. But know that I am there with you, holding your hand as you learn what I never could. How to give a house a heart, to infuse your soul with the walls that keep you warm, to cook a meal with the quiet taste of comfort, how to break in a couch and nap in the living room knowing you are safe. One day the halls will echo with laughter and be lit by smiles of those you love. The cold blue of the overhead light will be replaced by the warm yellow of lamps and candles that smell of simple pleasures. The kitchen will smell no longer like paint but instead spices and many meals shared. You will cover the walls painted landlord white with posters and pictures of memories.

When you have filled your house with heart, the things that make it warm, that harbor comfort, you will let go of my hand and I will be proud of you for doing what I never could. Should you need me again, I will always be there, holding your hand until you finally feel at home in this house.

Inspired by this Uquiz:

you have to live through this with me real quick. real quick i promise