#sweetdevilsweden

The pirate looked at what seemed to be a demon with ahlf fascination, half fear. And maybe some respect...

Me: Oh, goodness. That sounds like a hairy situation.

Friend: I guess I'll have to claw my way out of it.

Me: Oh my God.

Me: I can't think of a comeback.

Friend: I bet my whiskers I could.

Me:

(( i would but i don’t think our muses would do good together xD))

Britannia thinks devil Sweden is a weird creature- He confuses him---

I am writing this for me...and for no one at all. It will perhaps rot away, hidden beneath the folds of the leather bound book I keep on my person at all times...perhaps not. But I expect I shall be the only one to read it, shaky and illegible as my handwriting is at this time. No, my hands are not trembling with emotion, because I have yet to reach the heart of this...penned notation? Note...mark in history...it could have any name, so long as it has one. There is a precipice we all must approach at some point in our lives. It is always large, seemingly without any bottom at all. The sky is always dark, or some form of stormy that reflects our indecision. The wind howls, begging to be heard but unintelligible over the thunder and lightning, or the rain that soaks through. There are voices in that wind, in the thunder and lightning, and even in the rain. They are all familiar, even if they cannot all be recalled quickly to memory. Sometimes, it is not a cliff at all, but the ledge of a building, or the highest spire of a tower. The precipice is always somewhere high, where one can look down in some feeble attempt to make sense of the reality below.

We approach this precipice when we are depressed, or when we have a life-and-death decision to make. But we also approach this precipice too, when our lives suddenly gain expectations. To do, or not do are either to fall or stay, each with their own consequences that inevitably follow. The wind will always howl in protest, the thunder will always rumble disagreeably, and the lightning will always crack angrily. Someone will always be displeased, and whether we stay or go, they will remain constant. This precipice looms before us...before me. Hundreds upon hundreds of times have I stood, overlooking the edge to the fathomless depths below, and never have I been able to glimpse the bottom. I have sometimes taken that leap, foregoing expectations and simply doing as I wished and wanted. But other times, I have stayed, clinging to the edge stubbornly with thumb and forefinger, letting the weather disagree with me and rage with unheeded expectations. I expect nothing from you, because I disdain expectations. They are manipulative, and though I can too manipulate others, this is not something that can truly fall victim to silver tongues and plays with words. I expect nothing, but I cannot stop you from expecting something of me. Perhaps you expect me to fight for you, to draw my sword to defend you that needs no protection of mine. Perhaps you expect for me to rage, to thunder disapproval at your choices when they concern only you and your happiness. Perhaps you expect me to make your choices for you...to shove you over the edge simply so a decision can be reached that will render you most unhappy. But I disdain expectations. I will not fight a battle that is not mine to fight. I will not thunder disapproval at something that needs no approval of mine. I will not shove you over the edge and make your decisions for you. I will only feel as I feel, in my own cloudless way, and perhaps through it all, hope that you might feel the same.

...............................................

-pushes him away-

-and slaps his head-