. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ INTRODUCTION ₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
((dividers credit to @/strangergraphics)) ((michael gifs credit to @/ifilosethelight))
--- ADMIN POST ---
"Happy is the man
Who wants for nothing
Happy is the liar
Happiness is itself desire..."
nothing at all - the crane wives
If you’re asking me to talk about myself, then you aren’t going to be here for long.
You won’t get any substance.
You’ll only get context.
Phoenix wasn’t like Santa Carla. It was hot and loud, but in the opposite way it is here. The days were long and sweaty. We didn’t have anything to look forward to. Life ran on a second-by-second basis, and thinking too far ahead would get someone trapped in their own mind.
In Phoenix, everyone has a job. Or a role. A place in society that’s marked from the start. There’s no escaping it, even if you try your whole life.
Even if you try from the moment you see the daylight.
It’s different in Santa Carla. The roles are looser, the jobs are undefined. The rules aren’t set in stone, they’re written in chalk. Washed away daily by the Pacific storms.
It doesn’t matter though, does it? The place I’m in doesn’t change my role. My fate. Time enough has shown me that.
I’m Sam Emerson’s brother, protector, friend, mentor.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
I’m Lucy Emerson’s son, apprentice, soldier, student.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
I’m Phoenix’s creation.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
I’m Santa Carla’s experiment.
To them, I belong.
To them, I am saved from me.
To them, I surrender control.
And to more, I want to be half of a whole.
...
If you’re demanding more out of me, you won’t get much else.
I’m Michael. I’m twenty. I have brown hair and brown eyes. What else could you want to know?
Do you want to put something else there? Then come claim a position.
What am I to you?
What’s my job to you?
If you ask me what I want?
Substance. A person to be. A job to have.
A place to belong.
It’s empty in here otherwise.
