#lacrxmabilis

[zeitloslebengone]

{ -- lacrxmabilis }

             ⊰✙∬   "If I tell you something can you keep it a secret? or are you one of those people that can't keep their mouth closed?."

[baxdelaire]

[ lacrxmabilis ]

      "Parties are great, but I don't       like to participate because my       tutor requires me to use these       horrible clothes..."

[legacyofinfamy]

Solid and shade

lacrxmabilis

The longer days of summer were already fading, reaching towards autumn by the time classes began anew at Winslow University. There was a time- not so long ago, he imagined- that Joe loved the autumn, loved the promise of winter and of new students, a classroom full of potential. Time, however, had begun to dull his interest in even the things he loved most, or indeed could bring himself "love" at all. The concept, he'd admit to himself, was rather difficult for him- an odd thing for a professor of literature to admit, especially one so enamored of the romantics.

Still, even with his career in a clear decline, he had long since found ways to battle the particular sort of ennui that had come upon him time and again during his life. He still found some joy in teaching, or at least in the occasional student who managed to grasp the concepts he lectured on time and time again; or at least he reassured himself that this joy existed as he walked to his second class of the day. It was similarly the second day of classes, and thus far, Joe had not seen anything particularly outstanding in any of his lectures, but then, one could hardly expect most teenagers and young twentysomethings to bother caring about literature on the best of days, let alone during the first week of classes. Come midterms and papers due and Joe would suddenly find a long line of students interested in the works of Henry David Thoreau and Edgar Allan Poe at his door.

For now, he would content himself with waiting- waiting to find those one or two students who made each lecture worth the breath, each night spend grading (frankly horrible) papers worth the time (and the requisite alcohol). He'd content himself with waiting to find the perfect student- the perfect moment-

-or, apparently, to nearly trip over a copy of The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe.

Joe spent a moment blinking down at the book in mild confusion, admittedly rather thrown off as he checked his own bag to be sure that he hadn't dropped his copy- after all, the odds of that sort of thing were high, given his mood. However, he had not actually brought his copy with him today, and as such knew this could not be his. In fact, a brief glance up told him with fair certainty that it must belong to the young woman a few steps ahead of him, reaching out to pick up a notebook that was similarly on the ground in front of her.

"Excuse me, miss," Joe called, reaching down to pick up the book before moving to jog a little, catching up. "I believe this is yours."