some fic writers probably dont realise that by writing silly fics, angsty fics, romcom-y fics, dramatic serious fics, crack fics, heart-breaking fics, or any kinds of fics, really, they might have saved someone’s sanity. reading fics have saved me too many times to count. you are all my saviours. thank you, for taking time to write, to weave letters and words and sentences together and create an amazing tale. all of you are my rock stars
i. you don’t remember often. but when you do, it’s the ocean, always the ocean. but not wrathful, tempestuous waves crashing and wrecking and destroying-no. just the cool, the calm. it’s the only calm there is in that tripwire brain of yours, the only calm you can hold on to. you clutch it in a death-grip.
(it’s funny, though-you don’t remember ever being to the beach before. then again, you don’t remember anything.)
ii. your mouth tastes like rust and your knuckles burn. the words ring in your ears like the shrill screech of metal against metal, carving into the air, carving into your skin. you turn and you run and you only stumble once. the air smells like asphalt and choked screams.
iii. soft rays of light hit the surface of the water and pool in green where there should be gold, but it feels more right than it has ever been in a long time.
iv. a name spills from his lips and latches onto your ribs. you are standing there and you are looking at him but you also see a boy, slumped in a back alley with blood-stained teeth and bruises in full bloom; and charcoal-stained fingers tapping against the windowsill back in a room in a home in a place in a memory that feels so far away you think it’s a dream; and a smile like the brooklyn sunrise except it was for you; and a boy, this boy: with sun-streaked hair and oceans for eyes.
v. you remember him. you remember, you remember, you remember, and now it feels like maybe you never forgot.
Please don’t apologize
for the oxygen your lungs take
or the carbon they make.
The elements by which you are powered
and of which you are made
and which you take and remake,
melt down, reforge,
in the furnace beneath your ribs –
these are given to you freely,
a love letter from the ancient stars,
and each of your exhalations
is a heartfelt reply:
Yes, I hear you.
Yes, I am yours.
And your breath feeds the green,
and your flesh feeds the earth,
and your light feeds mine,
fills this space, makes me shine.
So breathe deep. Breathe slow.
You have stories to tell.
You are one with the cosmos,
and you are well.