Me armé de fuerza y borré su número de mi teléfono para evitar volver a llamarlo.
Sabía que hacerlo no sería la cura para todo el dolor que estaba sintiendo, pero quizá sí sería el primer paso.
Los primeros días fueron muy difíciles, me moría de ganas de hablarle, necesitaba escuchar su voz.
Entonces comencé a recordar todo lo que pasamos juntos, la forma en la que me hablaba, las sonrisas, los buenos momentos y también los malos.
Recordaba cada instante que viví junto a él con lujo de detalle, sin embargo, era tiempo de dejarlo ir, por su bien y por el mío.
Lo eliminé de mis contactos, porque prometí respetarme y no volver a buscarlo, pero para mi desgracia, su número también lo había memorizado.
—  Ricardo G.

ok one of the things that bothers me with new spn is that it isn’t just different (brighter, less scary, a definite different feeling)… it’s worse. it’s genuinely worse

i love screenwriting so i’ve noticed major inaccuracies in plot and continuity (you can’t just decide to change something because you can’t think of a better plot, like the reapers being angels in season nine, and you can’t be so unfamiliar with your show that you make going to the grand canyon as children the focus of a scene in season eight even though they have explicitly stated multiple times that they’ve never been before), dialogue (making the characters sound less nuanced and less like themselves, just cardboard lines reciting case facts or whats “wrong” in that episode), characterization (there is none. that is all), and so many other things. 

and not just with writing. the camerawork doesn’t have the same indie movie-reminiscent artistic style to it, like framing dean in front of a portrait of michael defeating lucifer, or using angles appropriately that sufficiently add to the mood and beauty of the scene. the musical interludes seem as if they were chosen in half a second. the sets aren’t gritty americana, they aren’t broken down homes or deep city alleyways or seedy motels. they’re middle class homes with no personality or effect on the viewer. sam and dean pose as federal agents and nothing else if they even have a case, something that’s surprisingly not as common. monsters are fewer and further between in a show about monsters, as well as real, emotional scenes and brotherly moments with sam and dean, something that i’d consider to be at the core of supernatural.

like i suppose i could forgive the change in style, even though it feels cheaper, because the show is in new hands. but it’s not just that. everything is actually worse quality. its become a cheap, soulless knockoff of itself and its painful to watch.


You could hear the clip of Sam’s shoes stop just outside the door and you waited, lips pressed together, as he pulled the dungeon’s doors open and stepped inside. His silhouette stood tall just in the center, framed on all sides by the light from the hallway behind him. 

“I’ve got nothing new for you since an hour ago,” you said when he remained silent.

“No, I know. Or…I figured, at least,” he replied. He shut the door behind him and stepped inside.

“So what are you doing?” you asked. Sam hadn’t touched you in your time there; no torturing, only questions left unanswered by you. Still, this was out of the ordinary and you tensed up a bit as you eyed him. He surprised you, though, going to take a seat on the table across the room and letting his legs dangle down. He leaned back on his hands.

“Dean’s driving me crazy and it’s not really safe to go anywhere right now. I just thought, out of the whole bunker, next to you and your stubborn silence is probably the quietest place I could be.”

You felt your shoulders relax some; sometimes Sam was easy to read, and he definitely wasn’t there to hurt you. 

“You realize that you wanting me to be quiet makes me want to talk,” you said. He glanced at you and gave a shrug.

“If you’re going to say anything else besides ‘I have nothing to do with this’, then be my guest. It’s a win for me either way,” he said. 

You shook your head at him and settled back in your chair, saying nothing. Sam stared at you and you looked resolutely back, neither of you moving, or even blinking, until Sam’s face finally broke into a small smile. And for the first time in the twelve days you’d been there, you heard him laugh.

x x x