#tae.t

It’s been months. He hasn’t left his apartment. With technology what it is nowadays, he’s able to order just about anything he needs to his doorstep. Household items? Food? Just one or two taps away. Sure, he’s going to end up paying a little more, but hey - he doesn’t have to see anyone.

He doesn’t want to see anyone. He hasn’t for a while. With things going the way that they were, he couldn’t seem to face the world outside his front door. For a long time now, he’s thought that this was okay. If it weren’t for the concerned neighbor knocking at his door to make sure he was still alive, he would probably still be wearing a hole into the seat of his armchair.

So here he is, sitting in a park on a bench, bundled up and watching the river lazily disappear into the ocean. The view is beautiful, even after the sun has gone down and the animals have disappeared. The air is crisp and his cheeks sting just a little - the bite of the wind is almost uncomfortable. But it’s welcome.

He’s got his knees to his chest with his arms draped over them, chin nestled into the fabric at the elbows of his almost comically oversized cardigan. He may need to do some clothes shopping at some point soon, if he’s going to go out more.

Right now, though, he’s just breathing.

Is that enough?

Maybe.

I think it's safe to assume that every time you see a post here, there will also be an addition to the Works page. Sometimes there will be additions when I'm lurking. Sometimes there won't be anything for a week. The general rule is that I'm waiting for replies and attempting to think of new ways to interact with people.

It's hard, being social. Don't like it much.

Thank you again for reading.

I will be continuously working on a Works page, where many of my poems will appear. Every few days or so there should be another, so if you're interested, please keep checking back.

I may be posting an ad of sorts by the end of week 2, to attempt to find others to talk to; my agent said that I need friends or something. What does he know? I'm perfectly fine by myself...

Thank you for reading.

There are few things in the world that people would consider prettier than flowers. Any kind, really, though roses and gardenias seem to be the favorites among the bunch. Tulips and daisies just can't seem to compare. There's something about the shape of a rose that screams "perfect" and draws the attention of the appreciator - perhaps it's the contrast with the thorns, just below flawless petals.

Taliesin hates flowers.

He's come to despise them over time, finding them as boring as any other non-sentient life form. Plants in general hold no interest. He knows that they are required to live, providing him with clean oxygen to breathe, but wants nothing to do with them otherwise.

Receiving bouquets from fans is both a common and distressing occurrence. He's not sure what to do with them; he doesn't want to throw them away because obviously, they're worth a good bit of money and someone obviously took the time and effort to send them. But he has no need to keep them around his apartment, save for giving him a reason to get up every few days.

Often he finds himself taking the more modest ones out with him when he ventures into the world and carrying them from place to place, observing. Eventually he finds someone and settles his stare on them, a guy or a girl that appears to be having a hard day, and he approaches, flowers in hand.

He says very little, prefers keeping the interactions brief. But he offers them the flowers and a small smile, as he knows that sometimes life can be shit, and it will take a lot to keep yourself standing.