brittany text

Aubrey: But Chloe you can’t leave.

Chloe: Bree, Beca doesn’t feel the same as I do. And she hasn’t for the 4 years I have known her. If I continue to do this to myself it’ll just hurt me even more. I can’t push my feelings onto her, it’ll ruin everything. It’ll ruin us. Something’s happen for the best. Its time I move on…

Do you ever just feel like throwing your life away and starting fresh? I’m worn out and overdrawn. When I remember past lives there’s a calm and a tug towards escaping into something that never was. What does that mean? Is life a fiction? I remember sounds and places, smells. Feelings. They happened inside of another moment. A blank wall. A shower running. An empty waiting room, or the corner behind the door. Where the paint is peeling just a little, just a lot. Between notebook pages and nowhere, and everywhere.

I have had a bookmark on sunny fields and dark bedrooms for 15 years. The animals have long since gone. I thought things would change overtime if I just used the right colors, the right words. I’ll become her. Pronouns mean nothing when you’re skipping heartbeats.

I forget a lot about the past. I change it to suit my mood, suit my years. Sculpt a man from clay, from gold, from dirt. Dirt on both cheeks. Both knees.

My bruises have long since faded.

There’s a girl’s bedroom 20 years ago, wood floors scratched up, oldies music playing from the radio. Film canisters scattering the hallway. A book about local haunts that her mother wrote and Xeroxed, spiral bound. Boxes of unsold copies, black and white and smelled like thick ink. There was a rabbit hutch and a plum tree out back. We ate the plums. I remember when her dog died and she came to us crying. These are real memories.

So much time has passed. Every friend leaves. You’re left with yourself. Always getting to know this new version, this changed version, faded. Like too many copies of a book you wrote that no one wanted.

A bird sings from a tiny cage in a tiny house in a field you can see from the road. This is not my life. A sickening nostalgia for an image that once flashed across a screen. You’re left a husk. A no one. A nothing.

I defeat. I’m defeated.

Maybe a library will keep a copy for record.

so I had a long drive for work today so I wanted to listen to an audiobook because if I’m gonna be driving six hours I’m at least gonna enjoy it a little and I can only listen to audiobooks I’ve already read because my mind will wander so I chose Cinder

and all of this was to say omg I had forgotten how stinkin’ cute Cinder and Kai are THAT ENTIRE SCENE IN THE ELEVATOR, OMG

for @wesawbears for the @jeanmoreaunet‘s fall jerejean exchange!! i hope you enjoy britt! and i hope it’s autumn-ish enough

Jean is warm when he wakes up, his mind still full of fading dreams and the overwhelming feeling that he is comfortable and should not leave this bed. That feeling is becoming familiar to him, as is the press of the body against his back and the arms around his waist.  

Jean smiles with his eyes still shut, taking a deep breath and tucking himself back into Jeremy’s chest behind him.  

He’s about to drift off again, calm and content, but something sounds— different. There’s the slow breathing of Jeremy, the quiet noises from outside their room as the rest of the world starts it’s day, and —

Oh. The rain. 

The rain. They’re in Seattle, Jean remembers, It’s Thanksgiving and they’re in Seattle with Jeremy’s mother. He knows it rains here constantly, but it hadn’t sunk in until the soft pitter-patter could be heard on the roof.  

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