The heartbreaking memory of her face leading up to to the expected escape from his intolerance relentlessly refuses Ethan any relief. The premises have long since fallen silent and any trace of sound’s died save for the distant roar of vehicles and the whistling winds, thus giving him a night’s time to contemplate the avalanche of pent-up ire he’d set upon her and the disappointment trampled to scarce visibility beneath it.

                             Under the company of the thrumming left behind by the Elvis’ lilt and the shrillness of overexcited, too young women hours ago, he’s left with the consequences of his actions–––––– and the choice that is apparently his to make now. Now that the ball is finally in his court, he can barely begin to understand how to play the game when not on POWERLESSNESS’ leash.   Why on earth Katherine would let him decide the course of events so abruptly baffles him completely, most of all after his displayed paroxysm of vexation. The purpose of the concert ( to have a good time ) has long been forgotten amidst his spiralling thoughts–––––––– but they never did involve the options presented to him. Not truly, at least, given how the answer to her proposition’s been clear to him since she’d left despite the mixed signals he’d been giving off.

                             Not surprisingly, it takes him less time to reach the Hilton ( suite 465, he recalls ) than it did to shake the AMBIGUITY directed both Katherine’s way and his. Crossing the many metres to the door of her room however serves him well in that it thrusts upon him a sense of closure-—— or the necessary beginnings of it, at the very least. It ought to clear space for the eventual stop he must reach if this is to work out favourably: forgiveness.    He raps the door before even coming to a standstill, heart stuck in his throat and mouth dry with an amount of anxiety barely suited for this hour.

did you want the vocal part or the background part?

♫ well, since my baby left me, i found    a new place to dwell. it’s down at the end    of lonely street at heartbreak hotel.  ♫

      his  words  twinge , worse  than  rigid    daggers   they  are  splinters  burrowed  decades  over,             his  love  lingering  wooden  shards  swimming  through  slow distending  arteries  &  besieging   icebound  heart.  they  yearn   their   purging,  &  she   becomes  a   statue,   frozen  in   time.       ❛             ethan .  .  .        ❜       tender  name  floats  adrift,           he  wasn’t  meant  to  see  her.  she   should   have   been  more  cautious,          proximity  too  close,   catlike   appearance   too    familiar.   afflicted   hues  search  concrete  betwixt  their  feet,   dior  skirt   flowing  in  night’s  summer  breeze  in   peripheral.   like  an   artist’s   dark   oils   masterfully  spilled,  long  curled  locks  cascade  over  svelte  shoulder  as  chin  ascends  &   eyes raise.   reaching  toward,  fingers  trail  like  drifting  phantoms   along   short  strands  clouding  his  view,  if  only  excuse  to  touch  him.    he  hadn’t   aged  a  day,   visage  still  rugged  &  handsome  as  ever.  the  enigmatic  woman   who  was  always  so  eloquent  &  quick  with  her  words  is rendered  speechless,  by  his  ghost’s  presence  before  her,  if   only  for  a  moment.

         ❛       stop.      ❜      throaty contralto  aches,        ❛       i   vanished   because  i  had  no choice.  vanessa   wasn’t   the  only  one   being  hunted  by  something.   my   feelings   for  you   were   real.      ❜      she  didn’t  forget,          how  could  she?  betraying  them,         him,   it   is   a  heavy  cross  she  endures  as  decades  pass,   even   still,   he   haunts   her.          ❛        you   were   never  lost  to me  .  .  .  you  could   NEVER   be   lost   to  me.            ❜      backs  of  knuckles  brush  barbed  jaw,  limb  befalling  his  chest  in   tiny  fist   &   flattening  as  amber  irises  desperately search  his.       ❛       you  weren’t  supposed to  catch  me.       ❜      or  perhaps  he  was.   fate   is  a cruel   mistress,  after   all.

                                The disgusting breed of IRONY that shows itself now in particular, with Elvis still pouring all his melancholy in songs back at the grand hall inside, leaves the most disgusting taste of bitterness on the back of his tongue. It festers like a cesspool; like all his thoughts had those many years ago, after the source of Ethan’s heartbreak had departed like dew afore the morning sun. His jaw clenches with decades’ worth of resentment and his eyes gloss over until they’re no longer the welcoming browns they so oft are.    Yet, just like that, she substitutes his ire with something worse by a tenfold: DISAPPOINTMENT. The former is so much more easy to define and process––––– which makes looking her in the eye after concluding his lengthy stare at the ground that much more agonising. 

lemme compliment people. ( accepting. )

the 100 sentence starters. ( accepting. )