#scaredlater

    Her    father   never   got    out    of    bed   until   noon   ,   if   at   all   

    The   smell   of   burning   coffee  would   always   make   her   nauseous

    Her    mother    would    never    return    from    the   city 

    everyone   would   always   end   up   asking   the   wrong   question   at   some   point   or   ‘nother

    Lemony   Snicket   did    not   start   those   fires    . 

So   when   the   man   in   question   (   by   everyone  but  her  ;   for  change  of  pace  )   sent   the   avid   reporter   a   series   of   long   &   complicated   instructions   to   meet   him   at   this   coffee   shop   in   the  middle   of   what   Moxie   could  only   think   to   call   a   DESERT   ,   she   felt   she   had   a   certain   responsibility   to   comply    .  

                           one   million   &    two-thousand   ‘  I   TOLD   YOU   SO’S  ‘   dance   on   her   tongue   as   her   eyes   slowly   travel   up   to   meet   his   .   There   are   few   things   she   wants   more   than   his   omission   .      The    confession   that   she   was    right   about   Beatrice   &   she   was   right   about   that   wretched   organization   he’d    remained   so   loyal   to   .   Fingers   stand   POISED   above   worn   keys   ready   to   write   it   all   down   .   However   ,   washed   eyes  meet   his   she   finds   reprieve   ,    guilt   twisting   at    her   innards   . 

                     HOW   WAR   CHANGES   THE   ONES   WE   LOVE   . 

                                   Water   rings   his   eyes  ,   as   if   they   might   form   puddles   on   the   ground   below   him   any  moment  .   And   the  sadness   in   his   those   same   eyes   would   turn   that   puddle   into   a  pond   ,    his   weariness   ;   a   lake  ,   his   anxiety   ;   a   sea   ,    &    his   broken  heart   ----   AN OCEAN  .   And   so   on   and   so   forth   until   Moxie   felt   she   could   hardly   breathe   with   the   way   she   was   drowning   in   her   dear   friends   misery    . 

                               And    just    like    that    she   remembers   just   exactly   she   wants   more    than   her   own     empty   validation   .      

                                  It   takes   her    a   moment   to   gather   herself   before   she   replies    ,    a   tired   smile   lifting   at   the   corner   of   blanched   cheeks   ,   her  own   eyes   BRIMMING   with   just   a   touch   of   dew    .    With    a   sweeping   hand   gesture   she   motions   towards    the    chair   across   from   her   before   positioning   her   digits   above   her    typewriter   once   more    &     looking   towards   him   with   warmth   (   a   warmth   she   hadn’t   felt   in   far    too   long   )  .   On   cue   she    delivers   her   line  . 

@eyedisguised/ @scaredlater (both are gise so let’s go with it because I don’t know where they are atm)

Okay but LOOK here. (I know the blogs say look away; don’t listen. That’s foolish modesty and false pretenses. Or stylistic choice maybe) this is a writer with style. And flair. And a sense of humor, a sense of kindness, (despite the Olaf) and a very solid and impactful writing style. Look at it! It’s beautiful! 

She turned to face him in their cramped little bed, shuffling around in his impossible grip before reaching up to run the pad of her finger down his nose, smiling gently. He was still sleeping, though he wouldn’t be for much longer. Beatrice smiled softly as she gently traced the beginnings of lines upon his face; near his eyes & mouth especially. From smiling too much, she likes to think. Perhaps one day they can tell everybody of their love, but for now, it must be something for just the two of them.

As his eyes begin to slowly open, so too does her smile widen. How perfect he was; she was so lucky.

          “    Good morning, my darling. Are you going to let go of me so I can make us some breakfast ?    ”