#toofckngtiny

❛    or ,  somethin'  like  ‘  Star - Lord ,  you're the best i've ever had .   ‘    ❜

clara   —

it’s been years since i’ve written a letter.      odd,      isn’t that,      that something so vital to people less than a century ago is so easily forgotten?      if this were the nineteenth century i would have written you thousands of love letters by now.      —      is it too late to start?      i’m trying to work through how foolish i feel,      hands on my typewriter,      scraping dust from the keys as i write.      the last time i wrote a letter was while i was still in college      —      allison had just gotten married,      i saw on some tabloid cover in a duane reade,      and i didn’t know her phone number so i looked up an address for fanmail and sent her a congratulations.      it was stupid.      i doubt she opens her own fanmail;      chances are she never saw it.      i wasn’t invited to the wedding,      anyways.

anyway.      this letter isn’t about my family.      it is about you,      better than all of them combined.      it’s about the things i’ve been afraid to say aloud,      but hope can be written:      maybe i can be brave in this form.      all of my courage has always been silent.      here goes:      i love you.      i’ve said that before,      but softly,      not with enough weight.      here it is again:      i love you more than i knew i was capable of loving someone.      i think you taught me what love feels like.      i never knew!

i think i could spend the rest of my life with you and be perfectly happy,      but that seems like too big a sentiment to type and leave stewing,      so for now i’ll repeat:      i love you.      i’m off to rehearsal      —      i’ll bring lunch home after.      all my love,      and then some,

                                                                                  — v .

❝   i never would have guessed i wanted to be an actor.   ❞   the former hitman laughs   ,   taking a sip of his drink. god   ,   how the fuck did i get here   ?   even now it amazes him how he managed to leave dingy ohio   ,   on a hit no less   &   now he’s working part - time   &   attending gene’s class full time. is he finally catching a break   ?   god   ,   he hopes so.   ❝   it just sorta happened   ,  you know   ?   what about you   ?   what do uh   ,   what do you do   ?   ❞

                   𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑾𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑭𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺      /      who  we  become  metamorphosed  in  the  soft  sun  ,  dust  motes  dancing  ,  vaseline  filtered  pastel  light.  the  gentility  of   the  first  blush  of   morning  has  no  place  here  ,  who  he  was  in  the  tender stretch  of  the  day  is  not  who  has  entered  this  bar.   the  man  he  is  now  rests  himself  ,  half  slumped  against  the  scored  and  marked  wood  ,  he  could  match  it.   SCAR  FOR  SCAR   down  to  his  bones.   he’s  over  warm  ,  the  orange-rich  heart  of  a  faberge  egg.  fingers  press  to  glass  ,  prints  marred  with  the  condensation  sweat  slicking  the  crystal.   his  whiskey  serves  to muddle  the  room  further  ,  the  heat  of  it.  the  dark  heart  of  a  room  pulsating  with  life.    FAR  CRY   FROM  THE  GRAVEYARD  OF  HIS  PAST    (  the  winchesters  greatest  hits !   ashes  to  ashes   ,  grave  to  grave  )   the  jukebox  plays  something   tinny  and  far  away   ,  speakers  blown  ,  as  old  as  he  is   ,  older  even.   it  begins  slowly.   a  slurred  voice.   is  it  his  own  ?   words  known  by  heart  ,  THE  MAN  IN  BLACK  HIMSELF   and  who  wouldn’t  know  it   ?

                       𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬  𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑲𝑬𝑺  ,  𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯-𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬:   easily  flared  to  life  ,  quickly  extinguished  ,  indignation  rises  like  so  much  foam  ,  ebbing  and  flowing.   the  moon  and  the  sea.   THAT  WHICH  WE  CALL  HUMAN:    but  what  did  she  know  of  the  molten  red-hot  core  of  her  ,  the  beating  thunderous  thing  and  all  that  she  had  come  to  know  ?   fingertips  curve  inward  to  soft  palm  ,  mimicking  the  claws  that  sprout  from  blunt  human  hands.   she  calms  herself  ,  a  deep  breath  through  her  nose  ,  the  smells  of  autumn  ,  rotting  leaves  and  the  cold  snap  on  the  wind.   TELL ME:  have  you  let  go  of  all  that  ails  you  ?   lips  shift  into  something  almost  soft  ,  something  almost  peaceful.  TELL ME:  is the  anchor  that  we  call  humanity  dragging  you  to  the  floor  ?