* julia ( @shinkiiro ) . . .
“ i’ve been alone for so long i’m afraid i don’t know what it’s like not to be. ”
forgot to send this one xoxo
they've been drifting ever closer since the night began. even with the third seat at their table left unfilled, they can never get close enough it seems. knees bump, shoulders brush, but they can't name HIM. that makes him blameless. she just happens to be alone in his presence. the ice in her eyes thaws for no reason. she keeps another man company, talking late into another evening, only because they share a common struggle to empty their glasses. her man doesn't. that's all.
spike can only imagine what she's seen. still, he would bet good money ( if he had it ) that he's caught more than a few glimpses himself. had he known julia existed, maybe he could have warned her to stay far away. maybe she would have even listened. god knows, in her shoes, he wouldn't have . . . which means someone can be blamed. ' i'm sorry. ' though his voice barely rises above a hoarse whisper, she surely hears it. he waits for the flicker of candlelight in her eyes to tell him so. he'd wait a lifetime to be the one to dry her tears. ( no need. they never fall. )
angling forward, shutting out the smoke and the blues of the bar: julia. it's hard to believe the name ever meant something before meeting her — but it must have once. cutting through the murk of time's passage, through the warmth of her, through the dizziness that builds upon itself, his friend's warning can still find him here. be careful when you're with that woman. ' makes you wish you still were, probably. alone . . . ' it could be his age betraying him. not wise enough, just yet, to convince himself that he knows what he's talking about. he rubs the side of his face, mouth moving on without him regardless. ' someone like that. vicious. ' pausing here, elbow never leaving the table and head remaining anchored to a closed fist, he digs one-handed for a cigarette. two. ' he's no partner. '
what he means. what he says. hard to tell now if they're one and the same . . . putting on a smile, he can only hope she takes it as it should be taken.
with a cigarette and a light.
