#myrge

[rntal-blog]

         ‘ we do movie night thursdays, ’ they offer, unprompted. figure it’s good to go for that preemptive strike; the staff are all lounging at the tv tucked into an open area between shelves, which can’t seem anything short of strange. ‘ you know, it’s supposed to alternate  ---  b said we’d be picking on a rotation, right?  ---  but it’s almost always his choice. ’ pause. ‘ you checking out? ’

@myrge,  random.

[griefreak-blog]

@myrge

     it’s good to take out the trash sometimes, b.j. figures. centuries of artifacts piling up can make you a bit of a hoarder.

      right now, they are seated on the sidewalk sorting through their poetry. b.j. had a string of years as a poet, using their endless time on this plane to scribble out beautiful and dignified words about everything and nothing at all. they are not a beautiful and dignified person, but their poetry has done lots to surprise them. perhaps instead of throwing these out, they should get them published anonymously...

      well, dreams of having their own book can wait. it seems the world is finally waking up. cars are passing by at a much faster rate, and even the occasional pedestrian lines the streets on their way to get breakfast or go to work. b.j. won’t have much time left before they sink back into the shadows.

      “so long,” they utter to the collection, before adding it to the trash pile. they are too caught up in their own head to realize someone is watching them.

[worldwell-a]

@myrge.

     ‘ Let’s not do somethin’ either of us are gonna regret, here. Alright? What you say we count to three, take a step back, calm down? ’ 

[dirtypawarc]

@myrge,

         “  alright.  if you want to have a staring contest that bad  --  onetwothreego.  “

[singingrass-blog]

myrge replied to your post “[[MOR] goodbye rishi. you were a good bird.”

IM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU'RE DOING OKAY <3 <3 <3

i’m not and i’m not going to for a while, but i appreciate the gesture  ❤️

[utoprison]

@myrge

     this job doesn’t offer her anything solid besides a steady paycheck. 

     darshana spends her time reshelving books and lingering in aisles, staring at patrons and feeling bitterness at the sight of academics, college students, professionals. the ones who succeeded. the ones who hadn’t been through it all, thick and thin, dressed in orange, preaching with a false prophet, serving time for 18 years and keeping a permanent scar. no job will accept her. no person will love her. oh, the fucking regrets.

     today’s time is spent in the nonfiction section; she’s glaring at a woman on her laptop typing away. stacks of philosophy books are beside her. 

    she feels someone behind her, trying to get by. sidestepping, without turning away her gaze -- “my apologies.”