Casual Summer Reading : What you say, what they see.

A Handbook on Destiheller History, Psychology and Behavior.

Note: This isn’t tagged Destiel so that the nice cool Destiel shippers can avoid this. If you are wandering in the anti tags, you ain’t cool.

JENSEN: Destiel? No, Meh.

Destihellers: Ohk .. Not meaning to be an asshole but Jensen is homophobic and it could be because just like Dean, his dad is homophobic too.Evidence? Here is some meta:Art imitates life.

Someone in SPN crew: Destiel? Where?

Destihellers: Ok, I respect everyone’s opinions but I’d like to say how wrong you are, it is there right in front of you.How can’t you see it? Your show queerbaits all the time. You are WRONG. You need to delete. You don’t understand your own shoe please get off twitter. 

Samantha Smith: Destiel? Ship? What? NO, thanks.

Destihellers: I don’t mean to be rude and this might seem harsh but you are really irrelevant, Samantha. You might have played Mary Winchester but you don’t understand the show and you aren’t even a part of it anymore so please, either ship and ship destiel or just don’t express your opinion. Because it is your opinion and we don’t agree with it and WE are SPNFamily and a part of the show, what you say and think is worthless.

Samantha Smith: Returns to the show.

Destihellers: ……. Well, I can’t wait to see Mary ignore her son Sam, be a mother to Cas and Dean and play a matchmaker for them because Sam can’t even do the role of Destiel Matchmaker correctly. Can he stay on the sides, hopefully dead for a while till Mary, his Mother manages to make Destiel canon in a TV show with audience who don’t know shit about shipping and have been falsely lead to believe for 10 years to believe that Dean Winchester is straight because he fucks too many girls and has relationship with too many of them to be actually straight. 

William Shatner: Destiel, uh not really. 

Destihellers: You are only saying that because you are friends with evil bibros. This is a conspiracy. I won’t believe that you are Misha’s friend because you just disrespected my ship that exists in the fanfictional world. 

William Shatner: This is all just about a ship.

Destihellers: You are using your celebrity power to bully poor Destiel shippers, you should be ashamed of being a celebrity and defending yourself. Being a celebrity automatically means you cannot defend yourself from people questioning your mental capability due to old age. 

Meghan, the Assistant of the new SPN Show Runner: I’ll read a Destiel handbook about how EVERYONE SEES Destiel and why it needs to be canon now.

J2/Bibros/casual non shipper fans: Ok, do it at home though. Not at work. Keep shipping away from the show, thanks. I don’t know how I feel about someone in the crew reading Destiel fanfiction. The show is about Sam and Dean first though.

Destihellers: Oh god, oh Lord I am so hurt and disappointed in the SPNFamily. Oh these few vile evil bibros, worshipers of unholy Wincest. HOW DARE YOU BE RUDE TO SOMEONE IN THE SPN CREW. LOOK AT YOU DARING TO TWEET ANDREW DABB. I CAN SEE YOU ARE TRYING TO GET THE HER FIRED. I can’t believe how horrible they are to the SPN crew its like they forgot only we have the right to do that since the past 6 years. Oh Maghan, you are already our favorite if you didn’t notice with all the asskissing we are doing. You will be a special example serving as evidence in the next ‘Why Supernatural Queerbaits and how its a conspiracy’ Article when Destiel still isn’t Canon in Season 12 finale. You’ll do what Katherine and other people related to the show we spent our time on couldn’t do – Teach Jensen the error of his’ not liking Destiel and loving SamandDean too much he might be one of those evil bibro accounts on twitter/tumblr’ ways. If you can’t do it, we will give you mention you along with Jensen and Jared and all the other professional queerbaiters. 

Jensen: Misha is a friend, he is really-

Destihellers: SEE I TOLD YOU HE IS ALWAYS QUEERBAITING. Its like he thinks he can queerbait like our lord Misha and get away with it. No one else get to queerbait us but Misha without being called a Queerbaiter even if have called him homophobe for many years.

Jensen: Thoughts with Orlando.

Destihellers: SPNFamily is amazing. So much support but I don’t think Jensen has the right to be a decent human being since he doesn’t like the idea of Destiel in Canon and it has already made him homophobic.

Gay/LesbianBisexual/Pansexual/Asexual/Trangender/Etc. fans:  No, not Destiel. No forcing other sexuality on a straight character for representation, thanks.

Destihellers: No, YOU. You are homophobic/biphobic, what do you know? Please fuck off we need representation for the LGBTQA society. Don’t you understand how important it is that Dean be bi and Destiel be canon for the LGBTQA society? 

LGBTQA Society: …. How about helping us and the people in our communities who are facing physical/mental abuse, being abandoned by family, living in poor condition, trying to commit suicide at least once or once every year before we turn 20 instead of trying to turn a stated straight character from a 10 year old TV Show into Bi so you can see some man on man action? 

Destihellers: Here is a handbook for you … see how Destiel is already canon and seen by everyone so that it can actually be officially canon. Thanks. Good Day. Lets all respect each other and live like a family. We love you till you love what we love and see what we see. If not, you can fuck off bye. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t straight, you are homophobic anyway.


I hope while you do your light reading this summer on how to identify a destiheller and what to expect when you come across one, this handbook helps you understand the Destihell logic and gives you an understanding of what to expect while dealing with one. Don’t try to use your general logic while dealing with these special creatures. Not being able to grasp their logic might lead to severe case of mental harassment and trauma.

anonymous asked:

In reality it was my stupid mistake. I was hanging out with wrong people. it was what it was. I don't know if sober Harry ever wanted to see Maghan as his GF? I guess not. She was seeking acknowledgment. She got it in some point. But you cannot force for more if its not there. (Part 2)

It’s a start, learning to forgive yourself is very important then you can forgive the ones you think have wronged you. Being a child and losing someone or been abused are very difficult to recover from, I know with taking in abused foster kids. Suffering is massive and you act out, self-medicate with drugs and alcohol think you’re having a good time but ugly always shows up at the end. yes, she looked different sober, didn’t fit in not what you thought.

thanks anon

anonymous asked:

Imagine Jamie & Brianna's Gaelic lessons on Fraser's Ridge. So much of their bond seems to be built during these lessons, yet we don't see the exchanges and the building of their rapport.

The arrival of the first frost meant the coming of shorter days. Twilight lingered longer now, deep blues and purples casting their shadowed glow upon the Ridge. Demons laid to rest walked more freely when the sun bowed to the moon, sinking to its knees and rising only when the crows called it forth. The world spoke in whispers, too, drawing in on itself and shrinking. The little homestead on Frasers Ridge grew slow and sleepy, caught in the wintry purgatory between light and dark, life and death. Its usual hubbub of activity became that of tip-toed steps, hushed lovemaking, quiet prayers before bed…

Brianna sat in the one-room cabin, notes and books sprawled across his desk. She burned bright against the room’s waning light, painted as she was in the colors of autumn: crimson hair, pinked cheeks, a dress of deep copper. Observing her from the doorway, Jamie thought many a wanderer could find his way if she were to merely stand ahead, a fiery beacon in the night.

His daughter’s eyes were strained in the growing darkness, seeking words scribbled in Jamie’s clumsy penmanship. He felt suddenly ashamed of its lack of uniformity, the ink spots left behind from the stiffening of his finger joints. Writing Brianna’s weekly vocabulary lists was more difficult than he cared to admit, but each one was worth the price of a cramped and aching hand…

For it was during these evenings spent studying the Gaidhlig that Jamie Fraser had come to know his daughter. And while they shared the events of their days with the impassioned fervor of natural storytellers, Jamie found he knew her best in moments of companionable silence. He liked watching her unawares, seeing, from a slight distance, the barely-perceptible ways in which she mirrored himself or her mother. They might be strangers to one another, but even their mutual self-consciousness could not hide the similarities between them.

Jamie had kept a steady catalog of her tics during their nightly lessons. She bounced her right knee in frustration. She hummed when she was avoiding something, cried when she was angry. These were the things that Jamie Fraser committed to memory while his daughter, in turn, memorized the Gaelic he assigned her.

“Mo chridhe,” he said, stepping forward into the study. “Surely you canna see in this light?”

Brianna twisted around, startled. Mind befuddled by a rush of English and Gaelic, she managed only a stereotypical Scottish grunt. “Ach”, she said, an echo of her father. He laughed.

“I was preparing for our lesson. Seems I lost track of time,” she explained sheepishly. “I’ll have to look in the pantry for some candles. We’ve used all the ones in your desk.”

Jamie smiled, remembering pools of molten beeswax, remnants of lessons that had lasted long into the night.

“Ach,” Jamie repeated, clearly teasing her. “Dinna fash yourself. You willna need the light tonight. I’ve something else in mind.”

Brianna leaned forward, always ready for a challenge. “What, then?”

“Come, lass,” he beckoned, “I want to show ye something.” He made for the door, knowing she would be fast on his heels with a mind full of questions. Even pregnancy could not keep Brianna off her feet.

She followed, interest piqued, as Jamie led her outside.

They walked single-file into the shadowy wood, following trails visible only to her father’s eyes. Jamie’s hair – so much like her own– shone briefly in the moonlight, a flame passing through the blackness and rousing the slumbering beasts around them. He led the way, full of purpose, though their destination remained as elusive as ever.

They finally stopped beneath a towering oak, folding their long limbs to sit and lean against its trunk. Jamie titled his face upwards, suddenly reverent. This was the place then. In this light, Brianna thought, her father could be a Viking vigilante - all angles and sharp lines, the Fraser nose thrown into stark contrast by the branches’ mangled shadows. He was beautiful in the way only a man could be.

“Listen closely, a nighean.” he said. “What do you hear?”

Brianna tuned an ear to the sounds of life stirring around her: the rustle of leaves, the howling wind, the pitter-patter of scurrying animals. Each sang their song into the wintry darkness, creating a symphony of both forlorn longing and abounding joy.

She felt a creeping sense of fear wash over her, as though her humanness were an unwelcome intrusion in nature’s kingdom. Icy fingers drew invisible patterns up and down her flesh, arm hairs rising as though reaching out for half-forgotten memories. Remember, the wind seemed to shriek, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“What do you hear?” Jamie asked again, prodding gently. “In the Gaidhlig, a leannan.”

“Tannasgan,” she replied. Ghosts. Though she had never placed much stock in the comings and goings of the supernatural, she felt certain of an otherworldly presence breathing down her neck. The child in her womb begin to stir, an apex of warmth in the cold. Did it sense something too?

Jamie said nothing but only nodded, pointing to the canopy above.

“I once prayed under a tree much like this one,” her father began. “And looked up at this same sky.”

The sky in question glowed an eerie grey, neither black nor white.

“Did you hear them then as well?” Brianna asked, suddenly sounding like a little girl.

“The spirits? Aye. Always. They cried of loneliness then, too. I prayed with them, for them. That we might all find peace.”

Brianna closed her eyes, willing the voice of Frank Randall to echo in the rush of the forest. Had he found peace in death? Found relief from the shadow cast by the man beside her?

“I am no’ a holy man,” her father continued, a small tremor of laughter in his voice. “But there are times when ye’ve nothing for company except the words in yer mouth, the ghosts around ye, and the God above.”

Brianna knew he was speaking of his time at Lallybroch, of the seven years spent an exile in his own lands. She nodded, understanding, too, the pull of one’s faith during times of such hopelessness. In the midst of tragedy, she had witnessed even the most pragmatic men and women seek refuge in the pages of Scripture and Tradition. In a world so ravaged by change and turmoil, a comforting sense of permanence could be found in the preservation of ancient beliefs. They have persevered and so, too, shall I.

“I prayed to keep the loneliness at bay. Prayers my Mam taught me, ones I’d heard from priests, or read in books. But the tannasgan’s prayers were always louder than my own. I could hear them even when I was half-asleep, starved wi’ hunger.”

“And you weren’t afraid?”

“At first, maybe,” he admitted. “They spoke in a foreign tongue that sent the fear of God straight through me. But I came to understand them in time, and I was none so afraid of them then. No, they werena there to harm but only to remember what was lost.”

Brianna imagined her father as he would have been, his usual imposing physique reduced to the skin and bone of a cave-dweller. Alone and surrounded by ghosts – the men of Ardsmuir, his family, Jonathan Randall. Her mother.

The thought unnerved her, and she shivered. Mistaking this as a sign of coldness, Jamie wrapped his arm around her, offering warmth.

“I should like to teach ye a blessing, a nighean. One which a tannasg said o’er me as I laid in darkness. Would ye mind it much?”

“No,” she said. “Of course not.”

A moment of silence. He looked to the ground, voice growing quiet.

“I dinna ken if you’ve plans to stay here wi’ us in this…time. But I ken well that life, here or there, isna always easy.”

When Jamie turned his gaze on her, she was startled by the pain she saw there.

“A heart can break in a million ways, a leannan.” At this, he looked to his palm, smiling at the scar just at the base of his thumb. “And it can heal, too – in just as many. But the road is sometimes long and lonely. It knocks ye flat on yer arse more often than not.”

He elbowed her playfully in the side, though his tone was serious.

“And so I want to give you this, Brianna. You and the bairn.” Jamie placed a tentative hand on the swell of her belly, suddenly thoughtful. She recognized the fear in his movements – fear for her and for the child, for another left to live with the ghost of rape.

“This blessing is something to keep with ye always. To whisper to yourself or the bairn when life grows too heavy and home seems a distant place. It may not be much…But Brianna, I do hope it will carry you just as it once carried me.”

Brianna nodded, surprised at the tears stinging her eyes.

“You’ll recognize some of the words, but listen first, a nighean. Then we’ll repeat it together, aye?”

O, chì, chì tu na mòrbheanna,

O, chì, chì tu na còrr-bheanna,

O, chì, chì tu na coireachan,

Chì tu na sgòran fo cheò.

Chì tu gun dàil an t-àite ’s an d'rugadh tu,

Cuirear orm fàilte ’s a’ chànain a thuigeas tu,

Gheibh tu ann aoigh agus gràdh ‘nuair a ruigeam,

Nach reicinn air tunnachan òir.

Chì tu na coilltean, chì tu na doireachan,

Chì tu na maghan bàna, as toraiche,

Chì tu na féidh air làr nan coireachan

Falaicht’ ann an trusgan de cheò.

“Da,” Brianna asked sometime afterwards. “Why that blessing? Out of all others?”

In truth, there seemed nothing particularly special about it, save only that its rhythm allowed for easy recollection. She saw herself as a little girl, lulled to sleep beneath woolen blankets and the sound of her father’s Gaidhlig. Another life, perhaps.

“I dinna ken,” he said softly. “There are some things that canna be explained…”

But he cleared his throat, making to try.

“It was one night…when I lived in the cave. I was up to my ears in snow, half frozen wi’ the cold. I’d fallen asleep against the tree, ye see.

He shook his head, mouth quirked up at the corners.

“No verra sensible, aye? Praying about in the winter wi’ barely enough skin to cover my bones. But even so, I ken well enough that I was good as dead if someone didna find me by morning. Though I didna care overmuch either way, mind.”

“It was easier to sleep. Much easier than staying awake, feelin’ as though I might shatter wi’ the wind. And so I closed my eyes, thinking that death couldna be so bad so long as the cold and loneliness didna follow me there.”

His voice changed, at once pained and infinitely tender.

“And then I saw her. Do mhàthair.” Your mother. “And you, a nighean.”

“Me?” Brianna asked, dumbfounded.

“Aye. I didna ken if I was awake or dreaming, but she was there, carrying ye inside her. I felt as though I knew ye already. As if I’d met ye once before, long ago.”

Jamie smiled, eyes far away.

“She was dressed in no’ but a wee shift, flickering like a faerie and saying words I couldna understand. But when she came to me, I recognized theGaidhlig. ‘O, chì, chì tu na mòrbheanna…’” He snorted, “Then I knew that I was dreaming.”

Brianna giggled, recalling her mother’s stilted Gaelic.

“I hadna heard a tannasg speak in the Gaidhlig before, but she did. ‘O, chì, chì tu na còrr-bheanna’…I thought my heart was going to burst.”

“The blessing,” Brianna breathed. “The tannasg was Mama, then?”


“But – how?”

Jamie’s smile grew, reaching his eyes. As with his hair, they matched her own, and she wondered if she might one day be saved by the ghosts of her past. Roger, she thought silently. Where was he now?

“Ah. ‘There are some things that canna be explained.’” Brianna repeated.

“Do ye ken the blessing’s meaning, lass?” he asked, expectant.

She did, but only vaguely. She said as much.

“Aye, weel…It’s about home. For a place someone doesna think he’ll ever see again.” Jamie cleared his throat, translating Gaelic to English:

O you will see, see the great mountains,

O you will see, see the lofty mountains,

O you will see, see the corries,

You will see the peaks under mist.

You will see, without delay, the place where you were born,

A welcome will be put on you in the language you understand,

You will receive in it joy and love when you arrive,

That you would not sell for tons of gold.

You will see the woods, you will see the groves,

You will see the fair fields, more fertile,

You will see the deer at the foot of the corries

Enshrouded in a mantle of mist.

Brianna slowly repeated the words to herself but stopped abruptly, looking up.   “But what happened then? After Mama – the tannasg – said the blessing?”

The sharp planes of her father’s face seemed to soften. His shoulders eased, body and mind relaxing into the memory.

“She knelt beside me then, and laid her hand upon my chest. Right – here.” He pointed to the spot just above where his heart lay. “Her hands glowed a wee blue color when she touched me. “‘Mo ghaol ort’, she said.” My love is with you. “And then she held me there – like that – until I woke.”

“When I opened my eyes, I looked down the hillside. She was there – a deer and her fawn, both white as snow and surrounded by a blue mist. They must’ve thought me no threat, for they heard me wake but didna run. Only watched me.”

“She disappeared after a time, taking the fawn and the mist wi’ her. It was only then that I noticed the snow was all but gone. And the sun – God! you should’ve seen the sun, mo maise. As bright as I’d ever seen it. Colors so vivid I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. But no, I wasna dead and I wasna in Heaven either. My skin was on fire, and I burned like the Devil himself.”

“You had a fever?” Brianna asked, incredulous.

“Aye. Fergus found me by noon, slick with sweat as though it wasna the middle of winter. Jenny said it was a miracle. A fever in the snow? The first thaw and it only bein’ late February? I said I didna ken what it was, only that I needed a full cask of whisky to thaw my bones.”

“And did you get it? The whisky, I mean.”

“Ach, of course. If there’s one thing you’ll learn, lass, it’s that a Fraser canna be denied his whisky.”

“No wonder Mama married you.”

“Aye, maybe. But I never told my sister about the tannasg’s blessing. Or the white deer. I wanted that to be mine and mine alone.”

Brianna looked down, cheeks flushed with gratitude.

“But you’ve given it to me now.”

“Aye, lass. It’s yours now, to do wi’ as ye wish. Hold it tight against ye when it grows dark, knowing that home is never far away.”

They both fell into silence then. Brianna rubbed absently at her stomach; Jamie worried at a loose thread along the hem of his shirt. He looped it around his finger once, then twice, before he pulled it fast and tight. Brianna watched as his fingertip was drained of blood and oxygen, turning blue. At last, he released the tie, letting the normal flow of life resume once more. He sighed, looking to the sky as if in prayer.

“Ah Dhia. Sometimes I think I have died a hundred deaths. And it was she who brought me back every time.” Jamie took Brianna’s hand within his own, and kissed her knuckles. “When I canna see ye safe, mo chridhe, have faith that the tannasgan will watch over you. They will lead ye to where you must go.”

Brianna rested her hand over her father’s chest, keeping it there as the forest began to stir with the dawn of a new day.

“Móran taing, m’athair.” Thank you, father.

“Daonnan, a nighean.” Always, daughter. Prince Charles is up to Pride of Britain and accompanied by Maggie Smith who played Dowager Countess with famous one liners like my known wit, let’s see a long stream of abuse I have received by just one person after Prince Harry’s shooting birthday weekend in Balmoral. I do not flash my origin or that ducal title, but you also find two links which explain more. However I contacted police to sort this crime and sending me nonstop a chain of abusive messages just do not speak about bullying but also about stalking and harrassment. The person is obsessive with RF and aristo titles, very rude and visibly rants about fabricated crap of insane Michelle fake surname who has never met me. OK, my company was set up in 2007 just year after my fathers death and I am completely fine, you see it on my empire and busy life. However I am not known for bragging but I will think if I will take a way of media preacher like Meghan Markley and leak all photos or any funny bracelet:]]

I was a charity volunteer and charity was always close to my heart, ask Martin Hamrlik etc, anyway judge will discuss mental records of Michelle Kenneth - fake surname, her real one is hatcher aka that Desperate Housewives as you see Elon Musk using this film set:]] The judge will also consider who a crazy woman who has never met me knows stuff which is fabricated and they will look on harm made to my companies..bla bla Michelle has no record of any writing work etc and Landon,Graver have sent me abusive tweets and msgs for long time, also death threats or blackmails..oh and if I will be so after money, I will not decline a request of Landon on my sealed social media and jump on rich men instead of that fabricated cleaning or just real volunteering but OK, I will follow a way of Maghan Markley and I will give interviews. 

BTW Edward VIII was HM King, get over that, I do not leak my origin, speak with Prince Charles why he denies a title of princess to Louisa of Wessex but Edward VIII was a prince, I did not chat with you troll and Edward VIII had one great skills - he had balls to get out, compered to you, troll. If you plan to be a duke by marriage, ha ha, I am happy I am not chased and dragged like Harry. I am known as a princess, duchess is not used but ok…Police will investigate, we have some evidence and we tip 2 pl, however some links here to explain the reason and place:

Stepping from throne as king does not make him a prince, he was already a king and still a first son, the UK succession law is tough, different to German abdications but I have no claim to throne and I can be Queen only as a wife of Charles or William and I am so beautiful and brainy to be picky and not to be fooled by abusive social climbers criminals abusers to grant them a title of duke consort. Landon? ? Graver? Michelle fake surname? HG? Who does know me? Police will want it know…

I love how someone cries the river but sends out 10 abusive stalking bullying messages to me. You need help but we take that insult about mental help seriously, as defamation..

and pray not to get into HRH Prince Charles’s paranoid vision if I will announce I get a journey of Meghan and tell my stories to the tabs..he likes me but he fears. Right, police was contacted, they will investigate, the correct troll will be informed by them soon…I will inform you as well..Tune less serious drama fair play sport on TV, NHL highlights of last week on Face Off. I just wonder where are my trolls, no books, no movies, no records..just abuse sent to brain beauty..jealous, jilted…bad

OK I can inform prince Philip I have anything against bond between two royal branches of family and I can marry Harry who has that beard bcs I like beard, check Muskrat and watch the fun and Meghan crying and all those sycophants…shall we announce an engagement..oh troll, if you  or Landon will sue me for defamation, address me with correct title and honours so HRH Princess Marketa of Bohemia, 3rd duchess of Windsor…Marketa Barborikova Linden Windsor, you are welcome, you will stand in the court room as a commoner ft regina and trust me Battenbergs and HM have huge fear from any publicity, so good luck…also they are not happy mention Edward VIII but I choose Mehhan M path, so wait…and of course I am a stunner with the wit of Maggie Smith. You are not Pride of Britain, go Chuck!! anyway troll as Harry’s US booty call or that media preacher Meghan you can be in Kensington Palace apartment without being a princess but lets ask her in the courtroom how she got here and what she known about Landon if it was Landon. Also remember anyone who helped him, badmouthed is prosecuted. I do not need to forward door to manual to Chelsea social set..I think…do not speak to HRH unless HRH starts speaking to you, curtsey or bow… bla bla so Meghan Markle probably woke up in Kens Palace apartment and sheis mentally ill? OK, we will test her and I will take her path to the UK and USA press, also starting huge lawsuits, wait ans see, this one was over the top. One troll mentions my ducal title after weekend at Harry’s birthday celebration. This crazy troll cannot even know if I am married or Unless you are on flying mushrooms or wizzard in own heard, police will sort it, you just check how you can be trolled and abused even you keep quiet.who will tell Landon is a bully but happily posed with anti bullying charity, of course linked with Diana and RF, but we will know 99 per cent who is behind this tomorrow..Carp Diem!! Hope you set up a lot of apps, platforms or you do useful charity work, sometimes hands on, not just dressing up and no, a supermodel with money and title is not into majority of you, certainly not that abusive jerk or his helpers and seeing Loudon’ unknown sales executive it is not difficult to bark to the tabs and trust me I could sale my secrets or jut fun for 1000000 but lets see how many years in the jail this person gets…hope Meghan media preacher had great wake up in Kens palace, without being a princess:]]

we will also know within 2 days who is a person hiding under Pazifn who has sent me one info about I do not care about and called me as dude which is for the men usually but the person visibly likes travelling, circus starts. Enough trolls!

A year ago I would’ve told my parents a lie just to drive to your house and lay with you for an hour.

Today I drove past your street and felt a small part of my body detach and float down your road, past your kitchen, and into your bed again.

—  I Don’t Miss You, But My Loneliness Does