Excuse Me While I Go Cry In A Corner Now - Tumblr Posts
@getlostsqdwrd || cont.
time, at some point, had stopped its sequence; and it shouldn’t count as a lie that she hardly acknowledged the moment she had left home for good ( if sokovia could still be called a home after all ). an aircraft, buzzing all around. a memory of papers and forms and instructions thrown over her; a room, her new room. an intent to make her train and the final resolution that she should be left alone, for a while at least. the hope that she’ll recover at some point, though how long ago she couldn’t tell anymore. and—in that blurred space, for as much as we can know, it came to happen. one grey afternoon, rain a symphony in the distance. it happened—suffocated words and eyes fixed in another world, somewhere far ahead. and a thought, barely one certainty amidst it all—that she hadn’t spoken to herself, but to the only one she’d trust herself at this point.
vision, his hand coming to intertwine with hers.
and for just a moment, she thought that would be all for today. them, sitting in the middle of the room. a silence she could perhaps lean on, for a while at least. understanding in just letting her sadness be. but—he speaks, and far from infuriating her she’s kindly pushed somewhere words could hardly describe. a tremble in the sides of her neck, tears that tickle in the corners of her eyes. and it’s—it’s not the first time she cries about it. less so, you’d have trouble finding a moment she didn’t look just about to release another tear, but—this time was different. in feeling, it was different. weary, of course, but liberating in the strange way where your pain is received with the ghost of a smile. with acceptance of what it is and will be for a while more. she sighs, closed eyes and a second in which she contained herself before turning to him, one look, some doubt, then a brief attempt at meeting him with a smile carrying the gratitude in her, that then came back to be the tired state of someone that had been haunted by memories every other night before.
“ it was like this—the last time it happened, you know? ” she admits, the faintest stroke of her thumb against the skin of his hand. “ when our parents died and we were rescued from under that bed, i—hardly really spoke again. the next days, months maybe. not even... when i was hungry or my head hurt from all that crying. but—pietro… he dealt with grief so differently. lock it out and choose time and time again to take me by the hand and take me everywhere he went. guessing all i needed and always getting it right, and—even when i couldn’t say a word he spoke to me for hours to no end. he never gave up… he never does. ” and through the tears there it was, at last—love in the way she painted his memory word by word. a light amidst her broken parts.
“ i wish i could be a little more like him… ”