- ̗̀ seafoam ̖́-

22 // writer take a deep breath while taking in the ocean’s courage and let your eyes twinkle like the stars with the thought of all the amazing possibilities.

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ ivy.

‘ It is, born four hours ago. I’ve been towing with it and it’s not quite there yet, but I think I can fix it. ’ She could have spent hours in that seat, immersed wholly and completely without break, so she was grateful for his intrusion. Usually she liked being kept occupied and busy and didn’t so much enjoy being interrupted, but he ( much like the sound of piano keys ) was a calming force, a welcome distraction. Welcoming his presence next to her with a pleased smile her fingers begin cleaning up the scraps of paper littered any space that could have possibly been free, wrinkled pages of sheet music ( it was more precise when she knew the exact key and the exact notes, it worked far better than by memory ) laying over and fit into every nook and cranny around her. ‘ See, that makes me really happy. I’ll have to come by your work more often and help you out. ’ The grin settled onto her features is reminiscent of her words, elbow resting atop the music rack so as to more comfortably face him. ‘ Do you have some free time right now? I might need a second opinion on this, or I’ll never sleep. I’ve gotten so used to having you here to consult that I’ve went ahead and made three versions of the same idea and don’t know which one is the most listenable. ’

‘ Well, from what I heard -- you can definitely fix it. It sounded beautiful. And I’m not just saying that, I swear. ’ He was half tempted to help her clean up the mess of papers, but he knew there was probably some unseen order to them that he’d mess up if he did. So he watched, a soft smile forming on his features at the dedication that was always evident in whatever Ivy did. It was inspiring, and oddly reminiscent of his own persona, which -- he supposed, was one of the reasons he liked dropping by as much as he did. Often, Liam had the unfortunate habit of throwing himself into his work, spending an evening hunched over a textbook until his eyes felt strained and his back hurt, just as he knew Ivy sometimes poured over her keys until exhaustion reigned. Two peas in a pod, the scattered pages reminding him of his time in school and how his room had been covered in study guides, notebooks, practice exams -- whatever he needed in order to get a passing grade. ‘ Anytime you’re free -- you’re definitely welcome. I’m sure the animals would adore you just as much as I do. ’ Ivy’s smiles seemed to shine -- as rare as they sometimes were, Liam always felt lucky whenever one of them graced him, especially when something he’d said had caused it to bloom on Ivy’s lips. Happiness was something everyone deserved, but with her -- he was especially adamant about it. ‘ Yeah -- we closed early today, so my ears are yours. Although I can’t promise how much help I’ll be, but I’ll definitely try and offer some advice. ’

[encountering-love]

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ declan.

‘ Hey, hey, hey, don’t turn this all around on me. Clearly I need to invest in some wool sweaters from now on, keep myself from getting pneumonia. ’ It was odd seeing her in his clothing, even odder seeing her here and more than that, being used to it. Odd in the best way odd could be construed as. She just fit, she fit here. That made him happy, and brought him more comfort than he could probably express. Everything around him, about him, inside his head, it was all so hectic and chaotic. He needed something now and again that would ground him, keep him sane. Lucy just so happened to be that thing. ‘ If you’re going to be wearing them anyway, might as well make it worth my while. ’ His words are followed by a nonchalant shrug, the hints of a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth as he navigates around her seated frame for a mug and the coffee pot. ‘ Are you sure your siblings aren’t blowing up your house by now? Aren’t you the only reason why they’ve yet failed to detonate the entire continent?  ’

Scrunching up her nose, her fingers made a little gesture for him to come closer before wrapping around his neck and pulling him into a hug. ‘ I’d never let you get pneumonia, I swear. Look, now I can keep both of us warm, you just need to stay right here. ’ Being with Declan was simple, easy -- for once allowing herself to fall into happiness without having to think about the possible consequences. Around him, she could act her age and not have it matter, and there was something comforting about his demeanor that never failed to set her at ease. Maybe he didn’t struggle with exactly the same things she did, but somehow they seemed to smooth out each other’s problems -- allow them not to rest so heavily on each other’s minds. Something Lucy was eternally grateful for. ‘ I see, well I’m sure we can think of plenty of ways to make it worthwhile for you... ’ Teeth dug into her lip, trying to bite down her smile as he shuffled around her. It was so routine -- a glimpse of home in the sense that she’d never had one, and perhaps it was selfish to want to stay a bit longer, but she always found herself trying to extend their time just a tad whenever she could. ‘ Mhm... seeing as the continent still seems to be intact, I think I’ve got a bit more time before I need to save the world. If that’s okay with you. ’

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ teo.

It was unfair to equate Mari as a similar breed to the Ricci’s. Both were polar opposites, sharing only motivation and not much else. His family thrived off their name and success, amassing a significant fortune and reputation along the way. But it made them cold, treating people as bodies made to be studied. Arguably, his family’s scientific and medical breakthroughs caused more harm than good. But Mari sought to preserve what was good in the world. Knowledge was power, a power she used to be kind rather than self-serving. Sadly, in his haze of self-consciousness, it felt like splitting hairs. “Because it’s not one or the other. You literally pick your career, every time.” Inherently selfish, even Teo hears his adamant demands as greed. For the likes of him, there was no need to have a dream. With a trust fund, a family name, and a degree from MIT, Teo was set for life. He often forgets the disparity between his upbringing and Mari’s. The reporter learned to fight for her dreams, while Teo wrote it off as petty wish fulfillment. When did those become completely different things? He intakes a sharp breathe, as if her touch somehow required it. The Italian Lothario willed himself to remain firm in his words. Yes, she was unlike his family. And perhaps that was the beauty in her. Mari could hear his criticism and ultimatum without equating it to childishness. Maybe, just maybe, she’d see all the good Teo attempted to instill. Both for himself, and for their relationship. Because to have the future he wanted; a life filled with love, people, and adventure… Something had to give. And he prayed, quietly, that she would. “And I need you. But I need you here.” A softened hum escapes his lips, the sight of her desperate eyes weighing heavily on his. His resolve was softening, but for whatever moments it remained, Teo chose to act. “I don’t want you working weekends anymore.” His yearning fingers thread along her arm, a quiet reassurance that he hasn’t left. Not yet, anyways. “No work in the house. I’d rather you stay in the office late than bring it home with you.” Fingers moving upwards, he cups her flushed cheek and wipes away a stray tear. “I love you, Mari. Very much. But I, sorry we, can’t start our life if you’re always gone. I need you here.” 

She’d fought for everything she had. Tooth and nail -- despite everyone telling her that the odds weren’t in her favor. But Mari had been dedicated, all of her ideals resting on the fact that she wanted to make the world a better place to live in for anyone who came after her. If she’d succeeded, time had yet to tell -- but there was no doubt in her mind about whether or not she was on the right path. But now, on the brink of everything that she’d ever strived for, she was on the verge of giving it all up for love. Mari could almost hear her brain screaming at her foolishness, insisting that she take a step back, reevaluate what she wanted and find her rightful footing once more. But life had gotten in the way of that, creating a yearning for a future she’d never imagined herself taking part in before she met Teo. “You -- you can’t say that. Do you know how hard it is for me to leave? Sure, I’ll get swept up in a story but that doesn’t mean that you’re forgotten.” Truth was, he’d swept her off her feet more than any singular story ever had. Romance invigorating her being with fresh words and a newfound passion -- one that had slowly started to fade in the loneliness that often came with reporting. Although maybe she hadn’t been clear of that, especially lately -- losing focus on things as her job took precedence once more. The soft press of his fingers against her arms is distracting after so long apart, her body caving as it leans against his, finding comfort in his solid frame. But even so, Mari can’t quite get herself to give in -- not so easily, although her hushed voice speaks of nothing but the urgent need to fix this rift between them, “We can’t start a life together with you dictating what I can and can’t do either. We need compromise. ...Sometimes I’m going to have to work weekends, but I promise that it’ll be a rare occasion -- once a month, no more. And... I won’t bring my work home, but... I like telling you about the stories I’m covering -- I like getting your insight. And I like it when you get passionate about one of them too -- it’s sexy.” Pleading eyes fixate on his, heart thudding in her chest as she presses a soft kiss against his lips. Not to help her cause, but because she can’t help herself. “I want to -- start a life with you, be here with you. But reporting is my life too, and there’s got to be room for it.” 

[danverscarol]

[waveiisms-blog]

mrsxbrightsidex:

@waveiisms

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ catherine.

In the mist of their youth, they were equals in both art and life. Both young, wild, and filled with creative life. It was only now, standing in front of one another, that Catherine felt short in the metaphorical sense. Although presumptuous, one glance upon Logan’s features enlightened her of his past four years. Undoubtedly, his time in the City of Angels gifted him with artistic fulfillment. There was something in his eye, the very look Catherine recognized during their time together, that spoke of it in ten-fold. If all else, the high priced camera clasped in his tight grasp said just so. A bitterness lingered in her throat. Not because she wasn’t happy for his success, she was! But they were once mirror reflections of one another. When had Catherine become a shadow? Adulthood swallowed her whole, leaving her with racks of debt and an uncontrollable lust for a high. There was nothing glamorous about it, nor was there an excuse about how drugs were akin to being a writer. Certainly not when she lived in her car. “Let’s be honest. Everything made past 2006 is just a cheap remark.” Catherine gushed playfully, although quirking a coy brow at his video camera. “Almost everything…” She corrects with a faint smile. Even when Logan unknowingly shamed her, the brunette could not deny his talent. Isn’t that why she let him go? The world was large and applauding for a talent like his, rid of demons or humiliation. He was a man made for the spotlight, while she the darkness. “Nope. I can’t just give you that satisfaction. For all I know, you sold out and produce lame sequels.” She gasps dramatically, playful eyes twinkling as she points an accusatory finger at the blonde. “If you tell me you’re responsible for any one of those DC Comic fiascos, I’m walking.” Despite her words, to be affiliated with such was an outright success. In fact, anything involving a decent paying career was leaps and bounds ahead of her own. Fingers tightening against her clutch, she feels the lightness of her wallet (a menial $5 and a credit card on the verge of hitting its limit) weigh heavily at Logan’s insistence. On the bright side, he hadn’t propositioned dinner. On the other, even an hour together would surely do her current state in. But the earnest gleam in his eye, accompanied with rich words strategically phrased to appeal to the romantic within her… It’s straight out of a movie. Just like Logan. She relents, a shake to her head as she nudges him backwards. “You still haven’t lost your moves.” Boldly linking her arm in his, Catherine turns to him playfully. “But we’re getting a drink. I don’t care if you’ve turned into one of those healthy eating, Kale loving, gluten-free Los Angeles douchebags. I know a place.” A proposition that would help sooth her craving for patron and prevent an unnecessary credit card swipe. Ah, the perks of her mother sleeping with the local bar owner.  

Catherine had always been smart, coupled with that instant likeability that hit you out of nowhere -- not realizing until later that it was just her temperament, sass mixed with equal parts humor and confidence. If her creativity hadn’t been enough to draw him in, Logan is sure that this would’ve been. Or maybe it was a mix of both. Either way, it’s just as effective now. “Alright -- that’s fair. I was driving past a movie theater the other day and could have sworn I was in 1977.” His own features lift up slightly, gently maneuvering the camera in his hands, feeling it’s weight on his fingers as the soft smile -- a rarity, he knows, lights up Catherine’s features. It’s almost based on habit as he lifts up the device and snaps. Framing the moment, capturing her, right as they are in this very instance. There’s something surreal about it and he half wants to laugh it off. But nostalgia rests heavy on his chest, remembering days spent convincing her to let him take just another picture -- and how she’d insist that her mother was the actress and she was just a writer. “Nah, it’s pretentious indie films for me. Which is almost as bad -- but y’know it’s got a bit more creativity in the job... plus, I’m working on my own stuff on the side, hence the camera, so the end goal is in sight and then hopefully I’ll get to make my own films soon.” It’s ambitious, so many of his friends have failed, or are stuck in between gaffing and handing out coffee. But his dreams have been the one thing he’s been stubborn about, although leaving Catherine behind had never factored into the equation. Missing her, wondering how she was doing, it’d been a constant, because while they’d both insisted that them splitting up had been for the best -- there was a part of him that had always regretted that decision. He’s half sure that she’s about to say no, insist that they’re better left as people who once used to be central in each other’s lives but were now nothing more than strangers when her arms meet his chest and he bursts into laughter. “Or maybe they just work particularly well on you.” There’s something familiar in the way her arm links around his, body dragging his to follow -- which his does almost on instinct. Funny how old patterns can be reawakened at something as simple as a touch, but still, he wonders if returning to the past is something the two of them can truly do or if maybe the future is even more inviting than he’d been expecting it to be. “A drink it is -- and no, Los Angeles hasn’t deprived me of all sanity. I promise. No fruit cleanses and paleo diets for me -- although, I will admit, Acai bowls are pretty great.” He’s aware of how much he’s talking about himself -- how Catherine hasn’t offered up a shred of a detail about her own life. It’s frustrating, she’s creating an enigma and he wonders if she knows that it makes him all the more intrigued. 

[danger]

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ lorraine.

In the smoldering, eleven o’clock heat, time seems to stop. Why, the New Yorker could hardly remember the last instance life felt limitless. The brisk pace of Manhattan kept her busy; charity galas, committee meetings, and dinner parties alike. But as time stops, Lorraine is forced to pry into the corners of her mind otherwise dulled by champagne and caviar. She had become what Imogen and herself once resisted; cold. Who had she become? The painful question lingers in her mind, only brought back into time by her fiance’s words spilling from Imogen’s pink lips. Carlton. It sounded eerily like a rose dipped in poison; a bastardized promise of wealth and misery, in equal measure. Although Lorraine speculates that it was meaningless, perhaps her own imagination suffering from pre-marital nerves, the sounds echoes through her mind like an irritable Pop song. “Maybe. I’ve been dying to explore Tuscany. Oh! And Verona! Like Romeo and Juliet!” For a moment, Lorraine manages to find herself in a crystallized bliss. It’s why she was marrying Carlton in the first place; he could give her an otherwise unimaginable world. But the word “particular” uttered from the practical and humble mouth of her once-best friend shatter her bliss. It was an unimaginable world indeed. A life wherein they could escape to corners of the world yet feel stuck in the ferocity of society living. “I like how you think.” Clinking her champagne class against hers, a contrasting image presents itself. Would this be her life had she never returned to New York City? Sipping pink champagne on a hot porch, gushing over places to go and adventures to have? Needless to say, the brunette had a propensity for an over-active imagination. Granted, most of her dramatized events involved Fashion Week and Central Park, instead of major realizations about her upcoming nuptials. Whatever bullshit friendliness overcame them seemed to evaporate by the sting of Imogen’s words. Was it foolish for Lorraine to convince herself that their friendship was as it once was, rather than a hollowed facade layered with resentment? Lower lip quivering in a mixture of childish petulance and defensiveness, the artist scornfully faces the blonde. “Yeah? Luckily, no one’s popping up at your door step with a ring then.” Face masked with her best debutante grin, Lorraine feels her petty words grate at the surface. Once upon a time, their friendship was a picturesque representation of joy. But even in their most joyous, Imogen never failed to present her with cold facts that her romanticized brain refused to uncover. In her, Lorraine saw unabashed truth. A truth that could never be silenced, even when Lorraine begged for her to. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you don’t know me anymore?” 

She bit her tongue as the reminder of how Romeo and Juliet had ended threatened to escape her lips, not wanting to intrude upon Lorraine’s happiness. But Romeo had never promised anything but an ill-advised fate for Juliet -- had been unable to keep up with her, both in wits and with beauty, until it led to the demise of them both. The cold foreboding of an eerily similar fate seemed to rest on her former friend’s shoulders -- go seek her own life, fully of freedom and promise, or remain ensnared in the promise of love, only for Carlton to leave her a husk of what she’d once been. But then again, he offered her the world, outstretched on a silver platter -- how was someone supposed to walk away from that? “Verona, and Florence... oh! And Venice, of course -- you have to promise me you’ll send a million postcards!” As fake as her smile had felt a moment ago, it bloomed on her lips now, envisioning the trip, but with her, a wild fancy, of course -- but they’d always talked about the potential of Europe, of going somewhere new and invigorating. Even if those plans had fallen apart after Lorraine had left for New York. A sudden sadness takes over then, hitting her square in the stomach with unexpected regret. Maybe it’d been her fault -- she hadn’t been enough, her friendship, and whatever else they had shared, was no comparison to flashy rings and escapades around the globe. The galas and parties that Lorraine attended probably filled with so many people who could hold someone’s company better than she ever could. Imogen had never fit into the world that Lorraine was destined for, and it was becoming increasingly obvious. “How would you know? You left -- is it really that ridiculous to think that some southern gentleman hasn’t swept me off my feet?” This conversation stung, too embedded in old hurts that she’d never fully acknowledged for her to keep up civility, and Imogen could feel her perfectly crafted facade as a southern belle gently slipping away -- Lorraine’s words like acid as they cut down to her very soul. Even now, years later, she was still the only one who could bring Imogen to think of anything improper. Although back then, her thoughts had dwelled more on the slope of Lorraine’s lips, and the heat the rose at the curiosity of how they’d feel pressed against hers. Or how soft hands had wanted to touch, bring Lorraine’s body to a quiver underneath her fingers. Her cheeks paint red as the thought reawakens, as vivid as the hues that Lorraine had always used. “Apparently I know you better than Carlton.” The words were hushed, breathed barely above a whisper but added on before she could cut herself off. Her mother -- bless her soul, would be abashed. But how could she play the role she should when it was becoming increasingly clear that Lorraine was confining herself to a marriage that would only end in her being caged? 

[waveiisms-blog]

etherealfaeri:

poetry or short stories? sunny days outside or rainy days inside? candles or fairy lights? films or paintings?

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ teo.

At eighteen, he promised himself; his life, his love, and his family would never be like his current one. It wasn’t to say his family was deplorable. Quite the opposite, they instilled a work ethic and virtue uncommon to the world. They provided him with a family name, a trust fund, and years of priceless education that made Teo effortlessly successful. But he vowed never to allow such coldness back into his life. Mari gripped his fingers, tear-soaked orbs speaking of nothing but warmth. Was it enough to thaw the coldness of an empty bed and thoughtless “mhms.” “No, I’m just asking you to choose me.” His words lack the emotional punch the Italian Lothario was known for. He lived by his emotions and whims. Quick to cry at a tearful display or abandon responsibility for a glorious adventure. A real life Peter Pan. All too willing to surrender his adventures for Mari’s love and affection – but not at this rate. Blue orbs flicker to the floor, free hand scratching the scruff of his beard pensively. The anger that threatened to explode onto her subdued, as it always did. The very sight of her tearful, desperate expression is enough to calm his wrath. Arguments aside, Mari was a gem unlike any other. The onslaught of giggly, selfie-taking Instagram models never met her place in his life. Instead of jetting off to Cape Town or Saudi Arabia, the adventurer remained firmly in the heart of the city – for her. Just as it was against her nature to relent in her career, it was against Teo’s to remain. He enjoyed the comfort and simplicity of life. But their debacle felt too… Painful? Mature? Adult? “I know you’re trying! It’s just not enough!” He despised that phrase as a body. The blonde was distinctly aware of the pain that came with not being enough. But he threw caution and kindness to the wind, opting instead to allow his petulance to overcome him. “Do you even really love me?” He whispers breathlessly. “Like, love me enough to give some of that up?” Teo gestures with disgust towards the forgotten iPhone, its constant buzzing acting as a metaphor to their relationship. Even in bliss, there was always noise. 

There’d been a time when Mari had thought she could balance it all -- a career, her friendships, and love. Have the life that everyone told her she should aspire to because she was smart, excelling in High School, graduating with honors from university -- but disappointment was a hard lesson to have to learn at twenty-six. “Why does it have to be one or the other? I chose you -- over everyone else, I chose you. But reporting -- that’s my dream too.” A shallow gasp was pulled from her lips at the force of his words, attempting her best to swallow down the tears and the hurt that came with them. Perhaps she’d never be enough for Teo -- not that it should’ve been a surprise, with a brilliant sister and his family paving the path of progress and his dashing looks, how could she be? But losing him cut at her very soul. Maybe she’d never made it clear, but she needed an anchor -- someone to remind her to set down her phone every so often, someone whose embrace she could curl up in when a story got to be too much for her. And she’d hoped that she could help him too -- allow Teo to see the beauty that came with aspiring for something more, of growing up and being able to do something with one’s life, when before he’d only been exposed to the sacrifices one had to make. But somehow she’d failed -- in each and every regard, and she could feel insecurities that she’d never thought she’d have creep into place underneath her skin. “I’ve always loved you. I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t.” Her voice is quiet, standing up on tiptoes as her fingers reach up to run along his jaw, gently tracing along stubbly skin in the hopes of pulling him back towards her. The movement familiar and sparking up guilt at the reminder that affection has been missing from them both in the past weeks while she’d been consumed with her article. “I’m... I’m trying -- I know I need to find a balance, but it’s... hard for me.” If he’ll accept that as enough, she’s unsure, wide eyes glancing up at him imploringly -- wishing that there was some surefire way to allow him to see how much he meant in her life that didn’t involve cutting herself off from doing the one thing she’d always known she wanted to do. “I need you.”

[iriswestgifs]

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ catherine.

Writers always lived for cliches, while simultaneously disregarding it as lazy creativity. The great, All-American romance between them was a testimony to Catherine’s artistic temperament. A romanticized relationship that was briskly torn to seems by tragedy. Or at least, that’s how she remembered their history. However, a factual account would dwindle it to a simple fact; it was young love. A soft, naive, and fragile romance that caved to the world around them. Sadly, it wasn’t anything wildly theatrics like she or Logan would prefer. There was no climax to their story, no villainous step-mother that tore them apart. It was the slow, dulling pain of time and distance. Both of which were a more powerful reckoning than any villain or tragedy could ever be. A soft smile lingers across his lips. The momentary silence allowed her to admire the man he became. As equally familiar as he was strange, Logan carried himself with a grace that came with quiet fulfillment. To this day, the only boy. No, man. That ever made her belief in the beauty of simplicity. “Sadly, I haven’t used a DVD player since 2014. But if it helps, I still watch The Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink on Netflix?” Inherently, Catherine felt light. The nature of their conversation boasted of familiarity. Like a warm blanket after a cold day. Even now, with years and distance widening the gap between them, the brunette feels secure. “I don’t know. Your whole soulful and edgy Guy Ritchie get-up was pretty sexy.” There’s a sass to her words that felt a little too much. But a natural defense mechanism she relayed to when awkwardness (and most definitely shame) came to play. Raising a brown, her lips immediately curl, preparing itself for a charming rejection. The beauty of Logan was his place in her memory. The first love, the high school sweetheart… A beautiful memory that played when her addictions threatened her ruin. He was a mystery. One that felt inclined to remain as such. “I don’t think so,” maintaining an endeared smile, she ducks her face closer with a nostalgic glimmer in her eye. “I think you and I are better off just being… Flashbacks. No need to bring real life into that, don’t you agree?” 

Where Catherine had always written stories, he’d watched, letting his eyes map out patterns that often told so much more than words ever could. Fascinated at how much you could see if you paid enough attention, and how the slightest change in perspective could make a scene play out in infinite realms of possibilities. Looking at her now, the way her lips curved up slightly, how her features had sharpened, how she’d grown up, just as he had -- it made him wonder what it’d have been like if distance hadn’t been a factor. If they’d have made it just as so many had said they would, or if they’d have crumbled into a beautiful disaster. There was a part of him that had always hoped for a chance at reconciliation -- her influence palpable in every film he made, young love -- to be fair, but deep enough for it’s impact to still leave fissures in his mind. Their bodies maps of the changes they’d undergone, and there was that temptation of unraveling it -- jumping in headfirst and letting himself fall all over again. “Touche, embracing the future as cinema goes digital, probably the smart call. Although you might need to update your queue just a little.” He teases, watching her with an odd sense of nostalgia -- how easy it was to talk as if time hadn’t caught up with them. And he wondered, who had she become? Because while not entirely familiar, there was an odd sense of coming home that accompanied seeing her again. A short laugh slips past his lips, “Guy Ritchie? C’mon Cat-- couldn’t you compare me to one of the all-time greats?” He’s not used to rejection and perhaps it shows. Especially when she’s leaning closer and it’s just as tempting as when they’d been sixteen and in love. The smart choice would be to concede that she probably had a point and go on his way, but stubbornness had kicked in, his feet taking a deliberate step forward instead of retreating. “You and I have never been big on real life anyways -- who’s to say we couldn’t have just one last adventure? One last flashback.” Maybe time was different in the visual -- more fleeting, each moment needing to be grasped onto in the case that it’d escape one’s memory later. He’d loved her once, and perhaps some part of him still did and always would. “How disappointing of an ending would it be if we just left?” He’s calling out to the writer in her, both of their lives revolving around the notion that there’s something to be said for making one’s life a story worth telling. Following the mysteries attributed to such things as fate when others would simply leave it be.

[ibelieveinmoon-deactivated20260]

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ stephanie.

    For the first time in what felt like a long time, she was nervous. Not many situations made her truly anxious, and while in theory she practically had this in the bag, the thought of allowing this opportunity to slip right by her fingers because of her own incompetence had shaken her with nerves since last week. It was no surprise that he was such a welcome presence; Noah always seemed to know when to appear at the best of times. The smile alone that overtook her features at the sight of him should have been reassurance enough of how happy she was that he was there, ushering him inside whilst plucking a cup from the little tray. ‘ I love you. ’ He was such a sweet soul, especially to her, which made Stephanie want to be around him so much more than she already did. He kept her calm, and that was something she was desperately craving. ‘ You caught me at the perfect time, because not only do I need a serious jolt of caffeine and sugar, I’ve been having some issues with deciding what to wear. ’ Ironic, she could have anything she wanted in the entire world, anything else in the entire world that could distract her enough for the five hours she had left, and yet what she had wanted was him. Clad in a bathrobe and a pair of what should have been embarrassingly fluffy pink slippers she leads him towards her disaster of a bedroom, clothes strewn in every nook and cranny in an attempt to find something fitting. This meeting was important, it was a charity that meant so much to her and one that she genuinely from the bottom of her heart wanted to help; the last thing she ever wanted was to end up like her mother, she had the means to do something important, be something important, she couldn’t screw it up. ‘ Did they have glazed? Donuts, I mean. ’ A sip of coffee a bit of maneuvering later she holds up something pink and somewhat formal. Ish. ‘ What do you think of this? Too sheer? I can’t look like the neighbourhood stripper, I need to look like I’m capable and serious and like I really want this. ’ There were those nerves, tinging the ends of her words in a blatant display of help I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown and barely holding it together. ‘ Or what about red? Red is a serious colour. Black? ’

     Her reaction brought a smile to his lips, features lifting at the fact that him appearing hadn’t been a hindrance and instead of a pleasant surprise. Stephanie and her friendship had become something he needed, regardless of the fact of how endearing he found the redhead. While he so often was focused on all the possibilities of the future – his gaze fixated on the stars and the planets they could find among them – a scientist to the very core, she was focused on helping people in the present, a humanitarian with the reminder that Noah couldn’t distance himself from others in the excuse for progress, a lesson which he’d taken to heart. And if he could be as good a person as her, he knew he’d have accomplished something in life. ‘ Sure you do, I think you’re just saying that because I brought you a sugar rush. ’ An eyebrow raised at her request, taking in the slippers and robe as he followed her to the bedroom, unable to stop himself from teasing her lightly, hoping to ease her nerves with some humor. ‘ Well, for starters, I think you should definitely keep the slippers – they add a little color to the whole ensemble. ’ Although scanning the mess she’d already made out of her room, she truly did need the help. Not that Noah could blame her – this job opportunity was all Stephanie had been talking about for the past couple of weeks, and he knew how important it was to her. ‘ Do you take me for an amateur? Of course I made sure they had that. ’ Lifting a glazed treat out of the bag, he wiggled it temptingly at Stephanie before hastily placing it back in the bag as he was met with an assault of clothes – pushed at him in such rapid succession that he could practically feel the nerves dancing underneath her attempt at composure. There was something familiar about it, Noah knew he could often get the same way – be it for an exam or just talking to a professor he admired. Steady hands move to rest on her shoulders, gripping just tight enough to hopefully anchor her to something. ‘ I bet they’d all look gorgeous on you, Steph. ’ Normally a statement like that would have left him flustered, but gazing into forest green eyes made him realize how vulnerable she was right now – how much she needed a friend who’d give her the confidence she sought. ‘ But if you’re going to pick one – pick whatever one makes you feel comfortable. They’re going to love you – you’re dedicated and passionate and no one could think otherwise. I promise. ’

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ hayden.

    Her congratulatory words came as a big relief to him. Although he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because she had always been something of a guiding post for him, she knew him better than anyone ever had, so if she supported what he did Hayden knew he was doing the right thing. Maybe it was because of the kind of closure he would need in order to start the next stage of his life. The relief was much more like a double-edged sword in this respect, because of course he was happy and even more so because she seemed happy for him, but it also meant an end to— everything else between them. Hayden wasn’t oblivious nor was he dumb, it didn’t take an experienced psychologist to figure out that while they were friends there was always something more, something weirder and unidentified. She embodied a lot of things for him, things he wished he had and things he wished he could return to, a nostalgia kind of thing, he supposed, but she was also associated with a lot of things he’d rather not remember of his childhood. His family. His parents, in particular. They had always liked her, pushed her on him, pushed him on her. ‘ Good. Good, I— I was worried that you’d be angry. I know I didn’t tell you, I didn’t really tell anyone it happened so suddenly. ’ Hayden had always been impulsive. Spontaneous. Predictability had never been his strong suit, made him hard to control and pin down. But he had found someone who complimented him, who was just as impulsive, who was like him and therefore understood him. Wasn’t that good? Wasn’t that what he was supposed to want? ‘ And, uh … you can see me being married, can’t you? I don’t know, the whole thing is still kind of weird to me, in my head. ’ A sheepish chuckle follows his words, trying not to sound so hesitant and unsure because it was really too late to go back now, she had said yes, he was officially engaged and that was just— that. ‘ I have to go back next week for work, the whole place will blow up without me. But I’m free until later, we could go for coffee. I want to hear about what you’ve been doing, I haven’t seen you properly in practically a lifetime. ’

      ‘ Angry? ’ A soft chuckle crosses her lips, head shaking lightly in faint amusement. ‘ I mean... we don’t talk as much as we used to -- why would I be angry? I’m just glad you came to see me in person rather than sending some wedding invitation in the mail. ’ His next words made her pause, unsure why he was asking her that. It’d been a long time since he’d sought her judgment -- and although they’d once been so close that she felt like she knew Hayden instinctually, Imogen wouldn’t pretend that time hadn’t passed and made them into people who no longer shared that kind of bond. Still, she supposed that he must’ve known that, and still wanted to hear her opinion on the matter. ‘ Honestly? I don’t think I ever pictured you getting married. I was half worried that you’d end up one of those cranky journalists searching for the next big story, so I’m glad you’ll have someone to share it with. And if she’s the right one, then -- I’m really happy you found that. ’ There was no false sincerity in her words, although she did have to wonder what kind of person it’d taken for Hayden to make a commitment as absolute as marriage. How long they’d been together and if she knew every secret that he’d once disclosed only to her. And there was a certain kind of undeniable regret, no matter how much time had passed -- the loss of friendship, of the unfulfilled potential, still haunting her -- but whatever fantasies had played through her head in their youth might’ve only come out of false expectations. It was entirely possible that she’d built a fantasy, one that could have never played out in real life, her mother’s expectations of her jumbling with her own dreams. Where Hayden was independent and adventures, she’d always been soft and needing security -- a homebody. Still just as ambitious as he’d always been, but without the draw towards big city life, and Imogen supposed it was those differences that had always drawn them closer in their childhood which had eventually pushed them apart. ‘ Maybe it’ll just take some getting used to. It’s a big change, Hayden -- you can’t suddenly go from boyfriend to fiance and not feel weird about it. ’ A soft smile played on her lips, head nodding lightly, ‘ Coffee sounds perfect. I want to hear all about you taking the publishing industry by storm -- and what you’re writing in your spare time. You want to come over to my place? I run a B&B now -- and I promise we make the best coffee. ’

[thequotejournals]

First, he is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t yet lived.

Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis (via thequotejournals)

[waveiisms-blog]

❝ rosie.

     Not even a week had passed. Barely time left over in between getting affairs in order and arranging the funeral to allow time for them both to fully grieve. Perhaps it hadn’t been his responsibility to take over the funeral arrangements, but he’d needed to do something -- distract his mind from going down dark paths that he knew were difficult to escape from. And he’d seen how Rosie was -- on the verge of breaking, just as he was, and although they’d never been as close as him and Erik, it’d been hard to watch her crumble and he knew that it was what Erik would have wanted -- that they stick together in order to not go under with grief. Although he wasn’t sure how much of a success that’d been so far, condolences beginning to meld together and sound like one singular run on sentence that Liam only wanted to end. But he’d needed to keep things together. Not only for himself but for Rosie. 

    At first, he’d only known her through the letters that Erik had sent, a muffled voice on the receiving end of a phone call, and the blurred image from the various photos. When he’d actually met her in person, she already had a ring on her finger and a wedding was in the midst of being planned. Quick, to be sure -- but Erik’s love for her had been undeniable, and from then on out -- it’d been the three of them. Friends, always -- even through the worst of times. But Liam had never suspected that it’d fall apart so suddenly, and that they’d lose the very person who’d tied them together in the process. Even now, it hadn’t fully sunk in, and he kept waiting for Erik to waltz in with a bright grin on his face and announce that it’d all been some awful, elaborate plan. But as the last few well-wishers said their goodbyes and left, Liam was left with the unsettling notion that he’d never see his best friend again. His forced smile was slowly starting to break at the edges, any last attempts to keep up the charade fading with the last guests. But there was a need to stay strong as he moved towards Rosie, gently wrapping an arm around her. “You alright?  I can stay if you want me too -- you... God, you shouldn’t have to be alone right now.”