#sparrowboned

       he has been tracing a pattern on the tablecloth for most of the conversation ; do nothing that reveals how you really feel, even if that means you must force yourself to appear bored. he chances a glance at alice’s face, and regrets it : emotions are uncomfortable sensations, and, much like opinions, he finds it difficult to deal with anyone’s but his own.       he lets out his breath in a low whistle, having decided to simply stare at her nose and hope she doesn’t notice how he avoids her eyes. he loves her honesty, her genuine feelings, but he misses the way faker friends didn’t expect him to actually aid them when he could hardly aid himself. ‘       her complaint is one he’s whispered to himself more than a few times. the difference, he supposes, is that he’s never known who to be except whom pleases everyone else. it means nothing to change himself for a moment’s praise. “ then be someone different. that’s what i do -- it’ll make you feel as though you’ve done something, at least. ”

       he pulls at his tie -- a real one, not one of his father’s bow ties ; someone like heather chandler deserves a certain level of respect at her funeral, and as such, he’s put in even more effort than he normally does. the attire feels positively restricting, though he suspects this is due to the reason behind his wearing it rather than the clothing itself. he’d arrived alone, trying to ignore the memories of the last funeral he’d attended ; this time, there’s only one coffin instead of two, and he isn’t being greeted by PITY from every attendee. the feeling of weightlessness, though, is much the same.       he slips through the groups of nameless mourners, searching for an empty seat ; he finds one beside alice dubois, and before he’s even acknowledged her presence, he sits beside her. his hands wrap around his arms, and he stares at the display set up in front. when he speaks, it may as well be to himself. “ it doesn’t seem deserving of her. it’s too generic. ”

im tired of myself

I WOULD DIE FOR JOHN LAURENS + ERIN BURR TO BE HAPPY

             ❝ the un-n-niv-vers-rse w-was --- mad-de. t-to b-be s-s-seen-n. by o-our ey-yes. ❞

           ❛  shit, i -  ❜  hesitation makes it’s first appearance for the night when the door is actually opened, one hand rubbing at her temples in a show of embarrassment. if anything, she’s sorry for bringing her burdens to alice’s house. ❛  it’s  -  it’s super fucking late, isn't it, i didn’t even   -   it was too cold for the pier, and i couldn’t stay, i  -  ..  ❜