a gentle word...

grab a   ☕   with miss p.  //  acc. @prfume​ - astrid

❛ SO - ❜    lips purse, blow softly on the small opening of the lid. it’ll practically do nothing to cool the beverage down, but she’s got a knack for trying things  she already knows are hopeless.   ❛  - on a long long list of really shitty dates, this one took the cake. ❜     not that she cares, not that it matters - she could barely muster the energy to go to begin with and it isn’t like she was expecting anything of it  ( knack for trying hopeless things - really seems to be a goddamn pattern ! )  but there’s comfort in  this  in particular. just sitting with a friend, venting, even if it’s about trivial things like her friday evening adventures …  or in this particular case, failures.   she glances over at astrid, offers a smirk that can be understood as a silent   men, am i right ?     ❛  astrid he took me to KFC and  while ordering  asked me if i’d go home with him.  i almost became a true crime case, i’m sure of it !  ❜  

ah yes, shitty dates.  astrid squinted above her green tea at the clouds. they were startlingly white, enough to make her eyes ache and deter them back to the ground. she was smiling amusedly however, at the other woman’s babbling, grateful if anything for these, albeit brief, breaks from her her own mental dealings and personal - and frankly boring - daily drudges. happily, willingly, would astrid direct her attention towards the subject of paige’s endearing tales of her love life.  at the other’s exasperated glance, astrid merely lifted her brows in solidarity.  in reality it would be so easy to sweep her own love life with the same broom, blame its unsuccessfulness on a collective male incompetence. it was simpler to do that, simpler and...less painful, because the only other explanation would be that it was her fault or, even worse, nobody’s fault. nobody to blame just, life. life with its stupid rules and unpredictable patterns. you can’t control that, and its not like you get a reaction out of the universe either, no matter how many times you shake your fist at the sky or beat the shit out of your pillow at night. you punch the question ‘why?!’ into it over and over and over again as if for some miracle the universe would be sympathetic and provide clarity. unfortunately, even if it were the universe to blame, it isn’t human (or a pillow, for that matter), and therefore would never respond in a way our human brains will ever recognise (and that’s assuming the universe were to respond at all).