āTell me, Stephen, would you do me a kindness?ā
āI might,ā said Stephen, looking shrewish.
-Post Captain, Patrick O'Brian
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āTell me, Stephen, would you do me a kindness?ā
āI might,ā said Stephen, looking shrewish.
-Post Captain, Patrick O'Brian

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iāve forgotten how to write, it seems, itās been so long. but i think if i remembered, i would say āthe snow was lighter this yearā, i would say āremember the time the blizzard locked us indoors for three days and you were the only one keeping me sane?ā, i would say āevery night i listen to the echoes of your voice whispering that youād be there for me at midnightā, i would say āi miss you, i miss the way you loved me and the way i loved you backā. i would tell you, āi finished loving you but the promises left broken still tear me apartā, i would tell you ālast year you told me i was special, that you loved me most, this year you havenāt even texted me onceā, tell you āyou promised you wouldnāt forget my birthday next year, you said youād throw me a party even when i told you not toā. iād ask you āplease, even if you havenāt thought about me in months, think about me tonightā, ask you ādo you ever regret any of it, choosing her?ā, ask you āhow have you been?ā, ask you āplease, tell me that you havenāt forgotten meā, then āat least if not me, then what we used to mean to each other?ā, ask you āhave you forgotten us?ā, ask you ādo you ever think about me?ā, dread the answer.
i hope you say āi still think of you sometimes, wonder what it wouldāve been to love youā, hope you say āi thought of you today, thought about texting you but decided against itā, hope you say āi would never forget you and what we used to beā, hope you say āyou meant something to me once, and i still think about it late at night when the loneliness is tearing me apartā, hope you say āi loved youā, say āi loved youā, say āi love youā. i donāt know what you say. you havenāt texted me since the new year began. if i could see you now, if i could possibly text you without compromising my fragile pride, iād tell you āiām sorry for how it endedā, say āi miss the way we used to beā, ask you if you miss it too. iād say āplease, just tell me you remember meā, iād say āpleaseā, iād say āpleaseā. iād ask āplease, tell me i meant something to you.ā i donāt text you. itās 12:01am, and you donāt text me either.
On one's knees, begging
multiple planes and verses
in different rhymes and verse
For the cosmos to deal them
Favorable cards and outcomes
Well, don't wait for one to drop
Go out there, or into one's self
make a miracle yourself - become .
You guys. We have some amazing news.
Jaime Murray is coming to ClexaCon!
In addition Warehouse 13 hosts (usāMiranda and Jill) will be hosting our own Fan Panel celebrating 10 years of Bering and Wells!
Finally, we will also be organizing a convention-wise scavenger hunt where YOU will be the agents who get to catalogue the artifacts! Follow us everywhere for more info on whatās going down at @clexacon 2020!
Monochrome+1! ā { 2Ā / 3 }
@lutrinaes // @fiyhi // @nikkotiartsy // @bothriolepis // @grimtaleslbĀ // kittypanda

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And youāll find me standing outside my own door on a snowy night, wondering if i should be let in
iāve been a little lost since i learned how to love, a little undone, a little torn at the seams. stuffing is falling out of me from where my stomach should be and iām clutching the needle and thread in my hand, stitching myself back up together as i bleed out. iāve been patching myself together like a quilt and letting myself hang out to dry in the sun and returning each summer like morning dew. the teardrops on my face arenāt mine this time, standing out in the rain and closing my eyes. the butterflies have left my stomach and i can finally breathe freely without choking on their wings. old scabs turn into scars turn into faded skin, white marks barely visible next to the birthmarks littering my skin. iāve been smiling towards the sun and drawing freckles on my face and learning how to laugh again. weeding my garden and cutting out all of the plants that have ever threatened to choke me except for the dandelions i can forgive, staring right through the friends i used to keep. i lay in the sun until i burn. draw a sunflower on my ankle. i smile.
- sunflowers face the sun
i live simultaneously in the past and in the future; i write down the moments i experience so that i can remember them later on; and so i live life as both the record-keeper and the person who will end up reading her diary; i exist as both the versions of myself in the past and the future, but i do not quite exist right now; i never feel like iām alive