seren tries to write a book

Changing Seasons.

She could have been sleeping, in fact she tried to but the meaningless bustle of life kept her eyes wide open.. so instead, she buried herself in the cold embrace of the couch, noticing as every tiny piece of her heart shut down entirely to emotion. She wanted to scream, burst into tears, anything to make herself want to escape the serenity of numbness but all she could do was lay motionless because it was the only thing that didn’t hurt.

C.B. - I’ll write a book one day.

You said, this won’t be the last time. We’ll meet again. 

But what if it was and what if we don’t? I sank my nose in the nook of your neck, stealing a deep breath and tried to memorize that scent. You seldom wear cologne, and usually smell faintly of your wooden cupboard, mixed with a bare hint of not just any body wash, but that particular fresh, yellow bar soap. 

In that moment, I was jealous of the girl(s) in your future who would come to know this comforting scent as intimately as I did. 

—  The last time

It was 3am. I woke up to your name and face in my head, and a brimming emptiness. Things have been okay for a few weeks, but I guess I should have preempted that moments like this would hit me harshly once in a while. 

I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I tried the breathing exercise you taught me. Deep breaths of 4 counts, hold for 7, exhale in 8. It had always been soothing, but last night it wasn’t. It was difficult, and I panicked thinking over and over again that you taught me how to breathe

Then I kept trying to recall how you laughed. I couldn’t, and it frustrated me. I tried to bring to mind your happy face, but I don’t remember the sound of your laughter anymore. 

Did I ever get to tell you that I only slept through the night when you were next to me? I don’t know why. Was it subconsciously knowing you were there to tackle my monsters with me? 

How long more will it take for me to fall asleep on my own, breathe on my own? 

with a broken heart that's still beating

I still have this list of prompts from frilencer to write. This one getting out of hand is entirely her fault. 
[FF Link]

———

the broken locks were a warning
you got inside my head

I tried my best to be guarded
I’m an open book instead

I still see your reflection inside of my eyes
that are looking for a purpose
they’re still looking for life

It’s been quiet for weeks now— no villains or crazy weather or anything even remotely resembling trouble around, unless Grumpy shoving Dopey into a telephone pole and giving him a minor concussion counts. It’s the most serene Storybrooke has been since Emma arrived, and though she still has her eyes pealed for the next crisis, she’s doing her best to enjoy it. 

She’s spent an immeasurable amount of time with Killian, and they’ve officially added a few more real dates to their list— movie nights at her new place and dinners and even a bowling alley trip in which Killian learned how to bowl and got better than her, all in one night. She doesn’t care, really, just lets him tease her about it with weak glares her only attempt at defense. His smile is brighter again, more familiar, and she still wonders how she got so distracted, how she didn’t realize sooner the seriousness of his predicament. 

Dwelling on it certainly doesn’t make any difference to the past, so she tries not to do so. Instead, she focuses on kissing him whenever she has the chance, holding his hand as they walk down the sidewalk, pulling him close when no one is around memorizing the way his arms feel around his waist, the way his heart beats beneath her ear, the way she feels lighthearted when he kisses her head, the way his voice feels pressed against her jaw.

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Yesterday morning, I woke from the most vivid, chilling nightmare I have experienced in a long time, only to soon brush it from my mind, focus on distractions, push it away. 
This morning, I woke from one of the most beautiful, serene dreams I have experienced in years, but when I tried to focus on the memory, the images of pain and feelings of torment from the previous night came swimming through my mind again. These beautiful images of the sea I wished to be more closely acquainted with were soon replaced by sharp sensations and a painful, upsetting choice.
I could retract them both, remove the memories, good and bad. But where would I be then? Pain is not always the worst experience. At least I can feel something, which has not always been the case.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #115 // Grazia Curcuru