back to being strangers

How do you go back to being strangers with someone who has seen your soul?
كيف تعود غريبًا مع من رأى روحك؟
—  Snapchat: zaid_alhourani

I think one of the saddest things is when two people really get to know each other: their secrets, their fears, their favorite things, what they love, what they hate, literally everything, and they go back to being strangers. It’s like you have to walk past them and pretend like you never knew them, never even talked to them before, when really, you know everything about them.

I miss you.

Here I am, lying in my one-place-and-a-half bed, in the very place where you used to throw yourself to snuggle in, and I miss you.
The intensity that permeated your look when it touched me, the softness of your hair, the tenderness of your cuddles, the warmth of your skin against mine, the comfort of your presence, I miss everything.

It is so unfair. You are the person who has approached the most closely the frail little organ that is my heart, and here we are again strangers. It is even worse than being strangers, if we had simply returned back to this stage, there would remain hope, the electrifying excitement of having the opportunity to know each other, to discover each other, to marvel at each other of what we were, the visceral excitement of bonding to a new soul.
We’re not even strangers anymore. Even our eyes are fleeing each other as we both die of wanting to make them cross again.

I miss you.

You had to realize that we did not want the same thing for this utopia to end. It was too good to be true, you were too beautiful to be mine.
And here we are, both of us wishing deeply to reach the contraries of our mutual desires.
You, to love me with a flame of love that you do not have, in order to keep by your side the soul mate you found in me.
Me, to be able to forget that it is this flame of love that I have for you which gnaws me, in order to be able to meet again your almond eyes without feeling my world collapsing, in order to have the strength to keep you by my side, to have the strength to love you with that profound friendship you have for me.

I miss you.

We are but the sad spectators of a morbid scene, where we can only look helplessly at our plans to empty their blood by liters. The hope was extinguished in my hands when I tried to hold it to you and you did not know how to grasp it.
Love has given way to disarray, happiness has given way to loneliness, romance has given way to nostalgia, your kisses on my cheeks have given way to the erratic furrows of my tears, and you, you have given way to a gaping hole in the middle of my most secular hopes.

I miss you.

I wish I could hug you again, I would like to have the naivety to believe that you loved me, I would like to have the carelessness not to fear the nature of your feelings. I wish I could no longer be afraid to eternally continue to seek for you through all the people I meet. I wish I could not be terrified that I will never find someone else like you, someone who would have the same laugh, the same look, the same dimples in the corner of the mouth, the same hair, the same Way to kiss, the same way to get angry, the same tastes for music. I wish I could feel able to love something else than what you are.
I wish I could no longer feel a piece of me collapse every time I remember that you are now part of the past and that there is no possible future with you.
I wish that the thought of you leaves me a different taste than the bitter one of the salted pearls that flow on my cheeks.

I miss you.

—  are-you-ok-no-fck-off, The original text is in French and is on my tumblr here
Can we please just go back to being strangers?
Can we rewind time so that I never spoke to you that day?
Can I do something, anything, to make these feelings I still have for you go away?
When will I forget the feelings of your lips on mine?
When will your face be erased from my mind?
Will my heart be forever left in lurch?
Oh god, will there ever be a time where I won’t get hurt?
—  a.a.
I hate that I love you m.k.j.

I think one of the saddest things is when two people really get to know each other: their secrets, their fears, their favorite things, what they love, what they hate, literally everything, and then they go back to being strangers. It’s like you have to walk past them and pretend like you never knew them, never even talked to them before, when really, you know everything about them.

Bitch - Part 2

2,500 Followers Oneshot

Word Count: 1,834

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Part 1

“It’s pretty shady that you were so close by. You’re not stalking us are you?” Dean barks obnoxiously, stomping by you on the way to Baby. Having just finished the poltergeist case, the awkward tension is painfully palpable.

Expecting an immediate wise ass remark, Dean pauses and quickly turns his head. He witnesses you and Sam having a silent conversation, automatically causing his blood to boil.

“I live around here.” You state calmly, unfortunately your nervous habit of biting your bottom lip betrays you.

“Wait…” Dean aggressively slams the trunk shut then bolts in your direction.

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El felt lonely.

 And not the ‘I haven’t seen my friends in a week’ or anything like that.

 It was more the, ’I’m going to be fundamentally different from everyone I meet and love for my entire life’ and ’I carry stones in my chest but force out a breath to convince everyone I’m a semblance of stable’ kind of lonely. 

 As you can imagine it’d be hard to explain her form of loneliness to any of the people in her life. 

 So she didn’t. 

 Living was hard for El, it’s not like she didn’t love being alive, loving and being loved in return. Because she was immensely grateful that she’s at the point of life that she was. 

 But you can love something and still be hurt from it. 

 The boys knew that thunderstorms frightened her, that coke brought back memories that did nothing to serve her, that cats and her aren’t compatible, that bathing was still challenging although showers were far easier for her then baths. They knew that, all of her friends and family got the point that these things made her scared. That these things among many more made her uneasy.

 But there’s a difference between knowing and understanding. 

 And they could never understand exactly. 

 There were times when she’d drag her nails down her arms and legs, hard enough to make a faint red mark but not enough to ever actually hurt her. It was a physical release of pent up emotions and as bad as that was, it cooled her brain down enough so she could get her bearings. 

 There were times where she’d lash out against Mike, against Will or Joyce. It’s not that she wanted to hurt their feelings or that she was mad at them because she wasn’t at all. It’s just that so much was going on in her head that it needed out, it needed to be purged from her body and anyone who pushed the minuscule button was caught in the fire. 


 So here she sat, on the floor of her bathroom. Gripping her arms as hard and as close to her as she could and rocked backwards and forwards mumbling to herself in an attempt to pull herself together.

Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad." 

 The words slipped out in breathy whispers. Her hands going to uselessly claw at her hair, trying to get grounded to her surroundings. 

 She was in her bathroom. Will was home. She was safe. It would pass. She just needed to breathe. 

 You have to breathe, El. 

 But she wasn’t. But it wouldn’t. Everything was hurting. And she was alone. She was scared. And- 

 As another frustrated whimper slipped out, she heard the bathroom door creak open and saw Will cautiously approach her. Sinking to his knees and reaching for her arms as she was digging with her nails again. 

He grabbed both her wrists and held them for a moment, before very carefully pulling her into a hug, rocking her with him at a much slower pace then she had been doing previously. She let her body collapse from exhaustion and felt him hug her tighter as her breathing calmed down, tears escaping as she took in the comfort and warmth of Will. 

She pulled herself away and leaned her head back against the cold tile wall behind her. Will doing the same. The two of them sat there silently. El knew Will would wait until she was ready to speak, that he’d be patient.

 "Do you ever feel like you’re wired wrong? That everyone can look at you and know? A big red X displaying all the ways you’re different?” El asked, staring at the wall opposite her.

 "All the time.“ Will replied. A tone of solemn acceptance lacing his words.

 "How do you handle it? How do you move past it?" 

 "You don’t. You move forward and try to do something with it.”

 El turned to look at him after his reply, though he was still staring ahead. And she turned back to do the same. 

Will didn’t go through the same things she did. No one had. But they both faced the monster, they both faced the upside down, they both had wounds that would never heal. He’d never understand her completely. But she remembered that out of everyone who she ever snapped at in a moment’s notice, was frigid to; he always took it in grace. Never once lashing back at her, he had a quiet knowledge of knowing that it wasn’t at him but to him. That she was just trying to protect herself. 

Will wasn’t unfamiliar to the concept of hiding. He understood that this was her way. 

 She reached for his hand and clutched it tightly in her own. 

“Love you, Will." 

"Love you, El.”


She was here. Will was here. She was safe. It passed.

And she could breathe.

Honestly my favourite scene in Fury Road is the first trip through the canyon, when Max and Furiosa complete the transition from enemy to uneasy allies to being a well-oiled machine: back to back, perfectly synchronised, strangers and yet so completely in tune with each other, with -survival- that they don’t even need words.

It just says -so- much about them, about who they are, how their lives have been shaped by navigating survival, how they understand what they need to do, how limited their choices are, how to make the most of those. They don’t need to talk because they’re both performing the same calculations of what needs to be done to maximise the chances of their survival, and they’re looking at the same result.

And in the middle of that, is the war rig, bathing in sand and breathing as Furiosa tends it, whilst Max now has her blessing to drive it.

This film, guys. This. Film.

Maybe all we need is a break.

A month or two where we don’t talk- at least about the things that matter. 

A month or two of small interactions- a small joke here, a small question there, get rid of those old memories haunting us everywhere. 

A month or two where we go back to being strangers, back to being friendly acquaintances, back to being that odd we’re-friends-but-we’re-not-close that we were so long ago. 

And maybe, after a month or two, we’ll be able to pick back up again:

A not-so-clean slate that still offers a chance for a fresh start.

A ‘how was your summer?' that throws us back into endless tales and uncontrollable laughter. 

A hidden smile that says you still remember everything that happened, but you’ve chosen to bury it and let us move on.


Maybe all we need are two months.

—  and maybe this time, it will work out. 

Bucky x Reader


Summary: They were both emotionally scarred, and he knew not to take it personally. Based off of Strangers by Halsey featuring Lauren Jauregui.


Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing probably.


Word Count: 2.3k

Originally posted by seabasschino

I knew from the moment that I kissed her that everything changed between us. I liked her–alot. She just drew me in. The mysteriousness surrounding her captivated me. In a way, she reminded me of myself. She was quiet and cold, brushing off any sign of affection from anyone. I knew not to take it personally, I was the same way when I first arrived. HYDRA had us conditioned that we were incapable of love and affection. We were tortured until we became the monster that they wanted us to be. We were deprived of kindness and compassion, something that naturally comes easy to the Avengers. Now, months into her arrival, I had made the irreversible mistake of kissing her when she got shot during one of our missions.

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I’m trying to move on by thinking that we weren’t meant to be. Maybe we weren’t even meant to meet eachother because we just went back to being strangers. We can’t smile friendly at eachother anymore and we don’t even make eye contact. I know you don’t believe in alternate universes but I like to think that we are meant to be together there.
—  With that thought I am slowly but surely moving on. // 2amfilm