#* eden.

someone's playing music, somewhere. there's some chatter. eden lays on their back in the warm afternoon sun, spread out on the soft grass.

they pass over the joint. because, like, ouch.

"it doesn't work like that."

which is a fucking copout, and they know it. i don't have any motivations, everything just happens this way doesn't hold up, when you're human.

"wait - it's almost out."

they lift their hands in their own defence, holding up the cigarette, about a quarter burned, as though boldness might obfuscate the lie. which it is. outright.

Equally musing and challenging: "Will my opinion change yours?" As though what happens first is at all traditionally relevant to either of them.

fundamentally, it doesn't matter.

still, eden occasionally likes to pretend they live in a world of both dead-and-alive cats until the words are spoken out loud.

"i can't escape your orbit."

they might even mean it literally, the way their tone holds its timbre. eden remains passive to the whims of the universe, this might as well be another current into which they fall.

@bluedprints

"i forgave you before you knocked on the door."

whatever prolonged bout of r&r eden has committed to is evidently ongoing. they're staying with their parents, which is where they told penny they'd be, where they sent their last letter: an address written on the back of a receipt.

@transforms