You Be the Anchor That Keeps My Feet On the Ground, I'll Be the Wings That Keep Your Heart In The CloudsYou Be the Anchor That Keeps My Feet On the Ground, I'll Be the Wings That Keep Your Heart In The Clouds
A Lesson In Romantics
and ill be here by the ocean just waiting for proof that theres sunsets and silhouette dreams all my sand castles fall like the ashes of cigarettes and every waves drags me to sea i could stand here for hours just to ask God the question, is everyone here make-believe? with a tear in His voice, He said, son, that’s the question. does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?
Mayday Parade You Be the Anchor That Keeps My Feet On the Ground, I’ll Be the Wings That Keep Your Heart In The Clouds A Lesson in Romantics
I’ll be the Wings that Keep Your Heart in the Clouds (You’ll be the Anchor that Keeps my Feet on the Ground)
I am SO excited about this story. You guys have no idea how emotional Lanni and I have been in our texts over this. This is meant to be a few parts but we will see what happens.
(As usual this is Lanni’s fault. She mused about CS meeting in a psych ward and I kind of ran with it) (She also gave me the title)
Slight trigger warning (spoilers ahead): the setting here is a Psych ward and all of the character have mental illnesses that range from depression to addiction to delusional disorders. It is a pretty heavy storyline so if that concerns you please skip this fic over. I don’t want anyone to be upset by this.
He has lunch at the wrong hour every day until they give up on trying to stop him. He is stubborn, and he has learnt to fight for what he wants until he gets it (which is particularly easy here, doctors and nurses alike worried for the fragile state that he is fairly certain he no longer is in. But he does not complain). It is not for first pickings on the good food, either, although he does not complain when a charming smile manages to drag a few extra potato tots out of the sharp, wirily lady whose worn nametag reads “Sue.” She scoops food onto his tray with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes that promises no matter of charisma will convince her the next time (it always does, anyway).
It is the view. The seat that faces the table by the window that they reserve for her. She is a princess in her own right, flowing golden locks alone enough for her to stand out from the greys and whites and stark dullness of the place.
The first time he’d seen her was after his first week in. After blank white ceilings and stark grey sweats and heavy thoughts in black and white, when he was beginning to think they’d only gone and made everything worse; that was the first moment he caught a glimpse of bloody sunshine disappearing around the corner. He had been meant to be meeting his doctor. But he found himself redirecting, slowly moving to where he swore he saw the light.
And she stood there, halfway down the hall with the crabby old janitor that haunts the upper levels of the hospital. Her curls hung carelessly beautiful down the back that is turned to him and his fingers clenched tight on the edge of the wall when her melodic voice reached his ears.