4 évet, 9 hónapot és 15 napot vártam erre.

i still remember the first time i missed you,
i never would've guessed
that i'd be forced to feel
that way forever.



- riderek

"you hate that you are scared that he will never love you enough
and terrified that you cannot love him enough for the both of you..."

Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You

"You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, “everywhen” else — us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging ’60s — we are happy.

If this theory holds, well, by the law of averages, there had to be one universe — just this one — where we don’t end up together. Here and now just happens to be it. If you think of it this way, nothing is our fault.

So see, that explains everything. We’re not together anymore because of the multiverse.

Well, isn’t that comforting?

If you’re sad, do like I do and just think of the other ‘verses. The ones where I believe in love and where I don’t hate myself and where I never feel the need to kamikaze relationships. A universe where we can have nice things. It’s helpful, right?

Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you."

“You’re the worst thing to ever happen to me,” he says softly, fingers dancing across the freckles on the other boy’s cheekbone.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because you gave me so much to lose,” he says.

"I wish I could have told him that none of it mattered. The lies, the mistakes. 
That I loved him, just the same. That I love him, still, now, knowing it all. 
Wish he could have heard me say it. 

He’ll never know."

Karma mindig ott és akkor csap le, ahol és amikor a legkevésbé várnád.

7 évvel később kamatostul kapok vissza mindent és még csak tenni sem tudok ellene. Kívülről figyelem, hogy mi történik, tudva, hogy ezt a mértékű fájdalmat csak magamnak köszönhetem.

"When his head was swimming with thoughts he could barely grasp, thoughts that muddled his brain and then flew out of reach, there was always one constant, always Mickey. His mind replayed every moment--the dirty smiles and "fuck you"s and moans, fingers brushing when they passed a joint back and forth, idle conversations about nothing. And then the weeks of silence and anger, where Mickey didn't know what to say and Ian just wanted someone to tell him that it wasn't all falling apart.

If his time away taught him anything, it was this: Ian loves him so much even when he's breaking.

--

There are always more important matters at hand. Ian throws himself into these tasks because he knows how to prioritize. Sometimes, when he's lucky, he gets so lost in the chaos that he manages to forget the bruises on his face and peppering his ribs and the ones buried deep within him.

But during a break in conversation, when the room grows silent for a rare moment, Ian feels the words forming on his tongue. For a second he can't pretend that he's okay anymore. No one's fucking okay, but that doesn't exclude him. That should matter to the people who claim to care.

So he opens his mouth, but then so does everyone else, and he finds himself getting drowned out by the noise. He closes his lips slowly and sits back and listens. Shrugs it off because it's fine. Ian's never been one to talk over the crowd.

--

"Is this a forever thing?" Ian asks into the space between them.

Mickey tightens his grip on Ian's hand. It's answer enough."

Nem kevésszer futok bele abba, amikor fanfiction írók le vannak becsmérelve, mondván, amit ők csinálnak, az nem írás, ők nem igazi írók. Na és itt van a kutya elásva, mert ez egy fatális tévedés és engem személy szerint rohadtul bosszant.

Való igaz, hogy ők valamilyen szinten hozott anyagból dolgoznak, hisz alapul vesznek egy már létező világot és/vagy annak karaktereit és köréjük, rájuk építik a saját történetüket, de a hangsúly az utóbbin van, mert ezek az ő saját történeteik. Ha erre alapoznánk a "tézist", akkor nem kevés publikált könyvet is bírálhatnánk, mert hány olyan szerzőről tudunk, aki mondjuk a körülötte lévők életén alapuló sztorit vetett papírra, kvázi egy már létező történetet vett bázisnak. Szóval akkor a kettő mennyiben is más, és miért kell az egyiket piedesztálra emelni, míg a másik kapcsán csak legyintünk, mert az nem ugyanaz?

Azért, mert nincs kiadva, nincs fizikailag a kezedben, attól még a fanfiction írók által a kedvenc karaktereidnek kreált sztorik ugyanúgy megmozgatnak. Ugyanúgy megmosolyogtatnak, vagy megríkatnak, ugyanúgy izgatott leszel egy új fejezet kapcsán és ugyanúgy nehezedre esik letenni az olvasmányt esténként. Ugyanúgy hiányozni fog, ha véget ér, és ugyanúgy újra fogod őket olvasni. Sokszor.

"也许在不同的时空 还牵着你的手"

 - Perhaps in a parallel universe, I am still holding your hand.

"Orpheus

You’re nineteen and you’re in love and you feel like it’s turned your ribs into an accordion.

Two years ago you were seventeen and in love and felt like your ribs were a prison, felt like your heart screamed its protest with every beat, felt like it was punching itself every time it bothered to move your blood forward, move your body forward, away from him.

A year ago you were eighteen and in love and your ribs felt like they weren’t your own, weren’t even there, were on your father’s plate and in your father’s mouth picking his teeth clean.

Three years ago he was an angel grinning like he was about to lift you off the ground on invisible wings, higher than you’ve ever known.

Two years ago he was an angel staring at you with wide wet eyes, praying for you to save yourself.

A year ago he was a broken boy before you, wings burnt black, voice singed hoarse, “Don’t do this.”

Yesterday he was an angel again, eyes burning with a fire so hot it could freeze you in place forever, and you’d be okay with that, okay with this angel boy and his devil eyes keeping you in one piece.

You’re nineteen and in love and yesterday you felt like every inhale and exhale sent ice crystals scattering through your ribs, picking notes along your bones like plucking sounds off guitar strings.

You felt like every sound you made yesterday was music, because every noise was answered by one of his, your breath and his breath pushing against each other in the dark, the wet warm place between your mouths sacred and speechless and secret, everything and nothing crowded into that one spot.

Today he is huddled in a pile of blankets on your bed and his flesh stinks and his voice is torn, when it comes, and he shirks away from your touch, disappears from between your fingers as if he were made of mist.

Today your ribs are still an instrument, just out of tune.

You’re nineteen and your angel is in hell and you would carry him on your back to the surface, if you could.

You’re nineteen and your angel is tottering behind you without sound and if you look back, if you allow yourself to think for a second, that he’s not coming up with you, you know he will fall to the black.

You stick a hand back behind you, feel mist, feel trust, and trudge forward to the light." (x)

Ilyen tehetséget akarok. Így akarok tudni írni. Hogy aki olvassa, bele akarjon halni.

Four years. III.




(Nézőpontot váltunk.)

It’s easier than you think. After days of being unable to get out of bed, you wake up one day and you know what you need to do.

When you show up at his place, he looks so familiar, he looks like before, and there’s nothing in the world you want more than go back and be the two person you were before. But it’s not a movie where you magically get a power to go back in time and change everything. It’s your life, your fucked up life where things never happen the way you want, you never get what you want. You were never supposed to get a happy ending.

It’s a goodbye and you both know it. Four years minimum, you tell him and see something change in him: he’s speechless, just staring at you and the only thing you want to say is don’t let me leave, give me a reason to stay, but the words never come. Not from you, not from him. It hits you hard, the realization, that he could never say that. You two aren’t on the same page, you’re always at least three steps ahead of him, like you always were. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much you want to scream and shatter every single piece of your heart so it would finally stop beating. You’re not surprised, though. This is not about love; it was never supposed to be about love and you can only thank yourself for being so stupid and falling for him.

You know he could never love you, how could he? You were never enough for anyone, you’re just a failure, a burden, who always pushes others to exceed their limits but you can’t help it. You need to feel loved, you want nothing more than being able to believe that you’re worth it, that you’re more than just a cheap lay or a warm mouth, but you’re at the point where it seems impossible. You’re not enough, you’ll never be enough, not for him, not for anyone.

You let out a smile when you hear him mutter a soft don’t, but inside you break again. It happens every time he says something harsh you want to believe is just a cover of his feelings but this time it’s different.

Your brain and heart work together so perfectly, telling you if he loved you, if he cared about you he would say so much more than a simple ’don’t’; he wouldn’t let you go, and you believe them. Finally, after years of trying, you let the thought sink in; you’re not worth it, you’re not worth all the shit he had gone through and would have to go through to be with you.

You look at him one last time, asking don’t what?, without actually expecting an answer. Instead you silently say goodbye to him, hoping one day he’ll find someone else who can make him happy, in a better future where loving someone won’t seem so impossible for him.

And for the first time in your life you try not to be selfish.

You don’t ask for that person to be you.

Mondják, hogy sosem szabad szégyenkezni attól, aki egykor voltál, de visszaolvasva néhány 2009-2010-es bejegyzést azért felmerül bennem a kérdés: ezeket tényleg én írtam? 

Oké, a szégyenkezés erős szó, de bazdmeg Liza, azért néha túlcsordult a nyálasság amit érdekes mértékű költőiséggel próbáltam palástolni pohara, valljuk be :))