Long rambling letter to myself
Dear me,
You should be proud of yourself.
Where you are now is so different from where you were for the last couple of years. Yes, the monsters exist in your head, but recently you’ve kept them at bay and managed to not let them control you. By the will of Allah, you are getting past this.
You used to be so enveloped in unexplainable sadness, so cut off from everything around you. Even if it looked like you were physically present, your mind and heart were always elsewhere- the smile on your face hardly ever reflecting what you were truly feeling inside. Your innocence was slowly stolen from you at a young age. You didn’t even know what was happening, but every time you think about it, you feel nauseated. I know, I know, it still haunts you till this day. I know that a day doesn’t go by that those memories don’t intrude on you, but just look at how far you’ve come.
I can’t exactly pinpoint at a time when all of this started, when you started feeling sad for no reason, which then grew into an unfathomable nothingness, fluctuating constantly between sadness, anger and apathy. When you slid something sharp across your wrist for the first time- you were scared at first, but then it slowly grew into an addiction. You didn’t know why you were doing it, just that it felt like a release. An adrenalin rush if you will and it gave you a false sense of happiness if only you crashed to an all new low after that, and so on and so forth. It was a vicious cycle you couldn’t get out of, but it was there for you and that’s all that mattered. It made you feel alive, and at the same time distracted you from the storm brewing inside of you.
Music was another source of diversion for you, dear self. Mixed with the delicious feeling of slicing yourself open, you found out exactly what could make you feel better. And it did, the cutter and your iPod became your best friends. What you didn’t know then was they would make you feel even worse afterwards. The music got you down even more, and guilt lightly tapped at your conscience because you knew it was wrong/Haram. The cutting filled you with even more self-reproach because you felt like you were leading a double life. But that was all in vain- you pushed these feelings aside, ignored them, because frankly, what else could you do with them?
Around this time, you even stopped praying consistently and sometimes altogether. You just weren’t bothered, and for that I don’t know how to forgive you. I just hope Allah the Most Merciful will, because that was one major sin you’ve got on your record book, buddy. Serious business, but you were indifferent. Nothing mattered. You also got your already dead heart broken for the first time. How foolish you were. Your relationship with your parents spiraled downwards too, what with your worrisome attitude. Now I’m thinking, how come no one ever noticed? But then I think, you got pretty good at masking it up- you’d been doing it for so long, it was second nature. But at nights, you’d cry yourself to sleep praying you’d feel better tomorrow.
You’d forgotten how to see the beauty in the world.
Everything would get to you, but you wouldn’t let it manifest itself in front of anyone. Remember when you couldn’t stand the sight of you in the mirror? You loathed everything about yourself, the inner and the outer. Consequently, you started forcing yourself to throw up. Spending ages in the bathroom, crying and puking, because you felt worthless.
Why am I reminding you of all of this dear self? It’s because so you can appreciate your life right now. You decided to tell someone about your self-harm, who encouraged you to tell someone who was older. Then you finally told mama. You thought she didn’t understand, you thought you’d break her heart, but you were gently surprised. She didn’t judge you, she comforted you. I’m proud of you for taking that stance. I’m proud of you for being clean for quite some time now- 2 months, and even though the urges still remain, you aren’t succumbing to them. I’m proud of you for realizing that if you just make an effort to get closer to Allah, He makes things so smooth and so easy for you. For realizing that you can take anything that comes your way because ‘On no soul does God place a burden more than it can bear”- for fighting your demons. I’m proud of you for not questioning your Lord’s decision, wondering “why me,” but acknowledging that every single thing has just been a means for you to develop a relationship with the One who Created you, and that it was all a blessing in disguise. Remember, and this is important, He listens when no one else does and understands without you having to fumble for words to explain it.
You’re in a good place right now, so let yourself be happy and just go with the flow. Don’t fill your head with pointless, arbitrary negativity and nonsense. Stick to the Quran and Sunnah and focus on becoming a better Muslim. Ahead of you lies a road of countless responsibilities and commitments, so take it easy and breathe. Try your level best not to fall back into old habits, and adopt new good ones to busy yourself with.
Lots of love, your current self, Rida.
-Danny pulls into the school parking lot a few minutes early and parks near the back. He turns the car off and climbs out into the night. It’s a cool evening, even if it’s still August. Fall is definitely in the air and now he wishes he brought a jacket. He looks around and it’s darker than he thought but there’s a street light not too far away casting a yellow light onto the deserted parking lot. There is no one around, not that he expected there to be but the school is creepy like this, dark and deserted. He starts thinking about the last time he was at the school at night but quickly derails that train of thought.
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the side of his car to wait, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sign of someone approaching. He’s not sure how this is supposed to work anyway. To be honest, he wasn’t completely sure what Peter even was. Peter had told him Danny wasn’t even supposed to be able to see him. Danny was more than a little confused. Did this mean Peter was just in his head? Was Danny crazy? One too many concussions on the lacrosse field? But he had to be real because the pack seemed to be able to see him too. But were they seeing something different? And there was the question of Peter’s past but Danny was still new to this werewolf/supernatural stuff and really didn’t feel like he could judge anyone right now when he knew there was so much he didn’t understand yet. And besides…second chances right? Peter hadn’t been anything but kind to him (he tries not to think about Matt who was also nothing but nice to him).
He shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time but mostly to give himself something to do. There was no use in thinking about this stuff now. He was getting nervous but only because it had been so long since he actually went on a date—Was this a date?—He wasn’t sure but he liked Peter and he didn’t want to blow this.-
Couldn't Sleep | Hyuna & Dongwoon
It was late, already after dinner and after school hours, but Dongwoon left some paper on his desk at the student government office and he needed to sign something there that he needed really early the next day. He groaned when he realized this, already nose deep in his homework, and he wanted to finish up and go to sleep. It had been another rough week for him, and he didn’t have soccer to keep him busy. After changing into something more casual than his dress shirt and jeans - he settled for just a regular shirt and one of his letterman jackets, plus his jeans - he slipped on his shoes and took his car. It was a near walk to the office, but he felt like going for a drive after he took his papers.
He parked at his usual spot outside the building and hurried up. It was empty, and he had to use his own set of keys to open the building, explain to the guard what he needed, and open his office. Only he, among the many students of Hidden Palms, had his own set of keys to the student center building. It was eerily quiet in his office when he came in. He wanted to quickly grab the papers he needed. He was surprised when he heard a small voice squeak behind him. Abruptly, he turned around to see a girl, with glasses pushed up her face, staring at him with wide eyes, sitting at the secretary desk. “Who the hell are you?” He asked, and wondered why she was there at that time doing what seemed to be reading papers. It was too suspicious for Dongwoon. The girl introduced herself as his new secretary, and that Hyuna had resigned earlier that morning. He couldn’t believe the news. He dismissed the girl, but still slightly cautious. He grabbed his papers and hurried out the room and out the building, whipping out his phone to text You quit the student government? to Hyuna.
I can’t decide what I need more- the image of you beneath my heavy eyelids or the goodnight message that’ll have a smile plastered in my mind instead of on my lips. It’s times like this, 1 a.m.’s and half hearted attempts at sleep, that I think of you. I try to push you out of my head, tell myself you’re no good for me, but you’re persistent even when you’re nowhere near and I laugh at myself because I still haven’t figured out how to tell you no. You’re ever present, sitting on the edge of my thoughts, swinging your feet over the edge (the place where my thoughts go more often than not these days) waiting.. for me to notice you dangling your toes over my worries and fears below, over the metaphorical abyss of my mental woes that you’re perched over.. or maybe you’re just testing me like you so often do.. wondering if I’ll pull you back in time if you lean over a bit too far.
That’s what happens, you know. People get too close to the edge and I can never tell when they’ll lose their footing and fall away from me. But I was kind enough to warn you, only you, and yet you keep creeping back to unsteady ground with your arms spread wide, a smile just as radiant as ever and a look in your eyes that says “catch me”. You’re crazy.
But who am I to question sanity. I’m awake, counting the steady chimes of an old wrist watch that’s never told me the right time.. (as if there’s ever a right time for anything anyway).
Tick tock.
Tick tock. My mind gets a bit fuzzy when I take time to fuss over you.
Tick. Tock. I love you.
Tick Tock. That’s a lie. No, wait.
Tick Tock. My eyes are as heavy as clouds. Sleep threatens to wash over me like raindrops.
Tick Tock. “Goodnight. I love you.” I’m asleep before the storm.
You’re crazy.
Notturno || ahandsomeface
It wasn’t typical for a butler to have many moments of spare time; it was definitely a hard profession which required many talents and the most important one consisted in being as flawless as possible. A good butler would have focused his attention to his master, the household, social life and to any other kind of entertainment, activity or information useful or interesting for the master himself. A butler worthy of this name wasn’t allowed to be a playful personality, at least during his work.
Every worker needed a break from his job -also in order to be more relaxed, then productive-: regarding Claude, this servant was more used to take his spare time at night rather than in his weekly afternoon break. Even though he was still used to spend most of his time inside the mansion, sometimes it happened that, for different reasons, he walked away. Where did he go? Destinations and motivations were very different so it was hard to tell.
Anyway, having met the interesting man known as Dorian Gray, he had the sensation that his spare time was going to be a little more worth of attention.
The black clad man didn’t need a carriage to move to the City. His fast legs were enough! When he stopped in front of Dorian Gray’s house, his pocket clock was saying that it was 9.56 pm. He hoped it wasn’t too late.
Claude took a look at his elegant yet modest clothes: they were still clean, luckily -even though just a snap of his left hand’s fingers would have been enough to make every stain vanish. Being there just as a guest and not as a butler, he was wearing more common clothing. He served a rich family so Claude’s clothes were made of good fabric and they were also well-tailored but he was a servant: his social rank required modesty and reservation, so his clothes were far away from luxury, and still they suited him very well. Plus, in that winter night he wasn’t wearing spectacles: they were just a part of his job’s suit, after all.
The demon approached calmly the door and knocked twice, gently, with his left hand gloved in black leather.
Frustration || Open Para
Evelyn was frustrated, like much of the castle seemed to be. However, unlike most of the castle, she hadn’t found a way to relieve that frustration yet. Everywhere she looked she saw girls throwing themselves at their sexually excited male counterparts, seemingly without a care in the world. But Evelyn Finnigan took pride in the fact that she wasn’t one of those girls…usually. She had self respect, and wasn’t going to throw that away for the sake of a quick shag in a broom cupboard. The only way she was going to do anything like that would be if the other person respected her as a person, not just a means to an end, and she wasn’t seeing an awful lot of that going around.
So, she was doing what she normally did when she was bored and couldn’t satisfy her boredom with a good book - wandering around the castle with her camera. There were certainly some interesting shots to be had of people who thought that standing in a corner meant they couldn’t be seen. Still, perhaps unsurprisingly, photographing other people sticking their tongues down each other’s throats did nothing to reduce her own frustration. So instead she’d taken a walk, trying to get away from the couples and the kissing and the constricting walls of the castle. Eventually she ended up near Hagrid’s hut, where she had a surprisingly good view of the castle and was mercifully far from any nauseatingly close couples. She sat down on the grassy hillside with a slight sigh, raising her camera to her eyes to try and capture the castle and the grounds.
Moonless
I was born not belonging. It’s only gotten worse since then. But I take comfort in the superiority my strangeness offers over those who walk with their eyes on their feet. I am a journeyer, a traveller by trade. I have no roof but the sky, no carpet but the soft spring grass. I am most alive when I’m all alone. I only break down when I say so. There is no half way, no middle ground. I am appalling. Fear me.
There is no rest for the wicked, is that why I can’t sleep? The sun smiles on me, letting me sleep in her warmth, but I have done something to offend the moon. She will not let me find rest in her shadowy arms, her silver dappled caresses do not reach me. I am her whipped dog, her beaten slave, a wraith outside of the warmth of her court. Pity me and she will leave you too.
