#emmorte

It’s his fourth time in this bookstore in the past week. Having come to the aforementioned decision still does not make it any easier choosing which books to spend his money on. He passes shelf to shelf, recognizing some titles, discovering others for the first time; debating between books he’s read before and books he hasn’t; books he’s heard about and books that are complete and utter strangers; reading back covers, examining the art on the front; allowing some books to open at random and reading a passage or two from mid-story.

Finally, his current debate is between a copy of Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We, a novel he’s heard of, but never read himself -- or a copy of the Language of Flowers which he used to possess before his recent having tragically lost whatever little personal belongings he’s managed collecting for himself in the course of several years. Unsuccessfully having tried ruling between the two for the past fifteen minutes or so as he crouches by the latter’s shelf, he finally straightens back up to his full six feet three inches and brings both books to the counter, lips tugged sideways in a goofy-looking, crooked smile.

“If you could only choose one, which one’a these would you take?”

“ I  want  you  to  be  NICE  to  me.  Like                         the  first  time  I  came  into  the  bookstore. “

❛   YOU CANNOT REMOVE APART OF YOURSELF SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU DO NOT LIKE IT.  ❜      marya morevna had long ago learned to accept- in fact, embrace her flaws. the things that made her heart gnarled and ugly, misformed and cruel. she had learned to accept that they were parts of hear that would not go away. she could puff some powder or smear some lipstick over them but they would always be there, under the surface. she would never hide them.     

LITTLE HC THINGS.  /  elliot’s pastimes.

surprisingly, he has quite a few. you’d think he’d forever be busy, you know, handling the universal balance and all of that jazz, but when he’s not ‘on the clock’, one can find him doing a multitude of things.

one. he very much enjoys writing in his journal. it’s a way to, somewhat, connect with humanity & think as they would. some scholars say that writing things down can lead to a healthy mind  /  while that’s the least of his worries, he can appreciate the concept of it. even if it’s just for a brief moment, one can find a certain booklet in his hands, inscribing his memories, his journeys, anything that comes to mind. it’s a small little thing, about the size of his hand. a subtle grey tone all around ; the spine patterned like a marble slab. call it a little home away from home. 

two. cleaning is actually something he’s quite fond of. it’s at his very core  /  fixing the messes that his counterpart, chaos, does without even realizing he does. though this isn’t at that big of a scale, it still has the same fundamentals. bring order to the disorderly ; in this case, the disorderly happens to be dirtied dishes or an unkempt room. no music, no distractions. it’s like an switch that’s been flipped to the on position and he’s off.

EMANATED  NERVOSE   /   the  gossamer  suffusion  of  macabre  lingers  on  his  skin   &   wan  fingers  worry  through  hair  perhaps  weeks  outgrown.   ❛   ―  and  what  if  you  are  the  EVIL ,  what  then ?   who  is  there to  stare  back ?  is  there  no  one ?  ❜   wintered  words  dissolve  between them  with  death - like  gravity ,  a  morbid  consideration.