#white writing

[not-beautiful-just-damned]

1780, oil on canvas, A Big Year for Laurens

[llavenderayss]

It’s hard isn’t it.

Letting go. The memories, the laughs, the smiles, the little touches, everything. It may not be a lot but it’s the little things that count and trying to find someone new while you’re getting over someone old, it’s hard.

You’re worried you’re not going to find anyone who did the things he did, who gets your humour or makes the same stupid jokes, the one who doesn’t touch you like he did or holds you the same. The one who isn’t the same height, or doesn’t have that smile that sets butterflies off in your stomach.

It’s scary, you think of all the things he has that you know someone new doesn’t have all because. It isn’t him after all. You’re looking for another version of him when it just isn’t the same because it’s not him anyway. But yet you try and find that one thing or person to take your mind of him but it never works, and it won’t, because you’re so hooked on this one person that you can’t let go of the one thing that isn’t worth it or doesn’t want you to see how someone new can treat you so much better and give you butterflies for different reasons.

For the way they kiss you. Pull you in. Touch you. Smile at you. Compliment you. Message you. It will all be worth it. Just trust the timing. Because this timing wasn’t right. And you deep down know that. You just don’t want to admit it.

-to me, from me.

[stonelantern]

Les oiseaux  by stonelantern

[tidalrose]

Nap time should be a global requirement.

[taytaydino]

[armedwithcharm]

Yes Yes Yes 

[not-beautiful-just-damned]

Me, editing contentedly, knowing that I’m about make some readers extremely unwell.

[not-beautiful-just-damned]

LAURENS WAS ASTONISHED by Hamilton’s fury. The man’s lips were trembling with threadbare restraint. His eyes, his face was alight with an outrage that Laurens could not remember ever seeing on him. But then his anger slowly subsided into shock. Hamilton’s gaze widened; his lips parted. Shaken, his eyes moved from Laurens’ hair to his face. Then his chin, down to his crumpled shirt and muddied breeches, before meeting his stare once more. Aghast. The ceaseless rustle of the cicadas intensified until Laurens grew light-headed with it. His own indignation paled, shrank down. His stomach clenched. Taking a step backward, he reached for the nearest chair. Hamilton followed him into the low-ceilinged room. The horror had not left his face as he took off his hat and held it in front of him. “John?” he asked in disbelief.

Almost two years of separation, two months of silence and one night that changes everything. Read the fallout this Sunday on AO3.