My favorite thing about your blog: the ice babies on the second page what the actual heck and the catelyn stuff i see yayayaWhat fandom I associate you with the most: huh coldplay!What I think of your URL: I actually don't know what it refers to god I hope it's not really obvious and I'm an idiot
Sort of kind of based on Carried Away by The Kooks (x)
I blame Billie for my pain.
Also Reena but whatever
Word Count: 796
And did I let you in?
They would lie next to each other, just lie there, making the world around them just stop and freeze for a moment. A singular moment, where there was only them in all of existence. She remembered, her hands would always be either underneath her pillow her resting against his heart. She remembered is heartbeat, slow and steady, the rhythm echoing into her hind and implanting itself in her own heart. She could remember how close they were. How their noses would be less than a centimetre away from each other and how if one of them started talking their lips would touch. He would always be the one to talk first, and it would always be the most intimate, personal stories. He would tell her about his childhood, he would tell her his most personal fears and his most primal desires. And she would understand. He was so afraid that if someone got to know him they would push him away. And then there was her. She took the ugly truth behind his eyes and made it more beautiful than he thought it ever could be.
And did I push you out?
She, on the other hand, wasn’t so forthcoming. Behind the soft smiles and the gentle touch was a world full of misery and pain. And she wouldn’t let anyone in, and if they tried, she would drive them away. Force them to leave her alone with her overwhelming sorrow. Not him. He knew, she didn’t need to say anything, he knew. It was in her eyes. In those little intimate moments he could see all the pain and he thought if she let him, if she just let him, he could, and he would, take them all away. But she’d blink and hide her pain away from him again. She always did. Broken record, almost reaching the final chorus before lurching back to the start. It was as if she was pushing him away, he could almost feel the hands on his chest forcing him away from her. And he would look down and there would be none, there would be holding onto his shirt instead, tight, clenched fist, keeping him with her. Or ready to let go and let them fall apart.
You know I think I still love you,
After forever, when they’d parted their separate ways, and he’d found happiness, and she’d found misery, he could look at her and feel…something. He could feel, he could remember, her brown eyes, dark, with that shade of the sparkling light brown twisted through, that shade that reminded him of apple cider, apple cider mixed in with cola, and he could remember how she would wipe away falling tears with the palm of her left hand, how if she was upset and she didn’t want you to know she’d look down, lick her lips twice, then bite her lower one, how she’d never look you in the eye if she was telling you a secret, not because she was lying but because she was afraid you wouldn’t like the truth. Nowadays, she pushed her hair out of her face with her right index finger and her thumb, whenever she sat down at a table she would lock her fingers together. He noticed, he knew, he knew she was in so much pain, so much agony, and it was destroying her. She was broken rubble of a person, like a hurricane had engulfed her and made her like this.
Are you still heading south, without me?
He didn’t care. She’d convinced herself that staying away from him was the best thing to do and then she’d convinced herself that he was the poison in her veins. She’d convinced herself that he didn’t care. She would look at him and she could feel her heart skip a beat and play out his rhythm, her eyes widen and pupils dilate. “Are you okay?” he asked, once, after months, eleven months and he would ask her that question. “Yes.” She answered, simply, softy, harshly. He didn’t care. She knew that now. She’d finally let someone in, he’d worn down her walls and forced his way inside, he’d taken away the pain, for a while, then on his way out he tore a gaping hole in her heart and let all sorts of new and twisted ache rush in. And she couldn’t stich up the wound without making it bigger. So she was left with whole in her heart, and her soul now dry and burnt black. He’d destroyed her. He’d taken her in her most needing hour and he’d thrown her into the hurricane and let her be carried away into the raging storm. “Are you okay?” No. “Yes.” “Are you okay?” No. “Yes.” “Are you okay?” No. “Yes.”
