#unappreciative

Armin drifts. 

And despite the many references to that particular word pop into his head the moment he thinks of that word, it accurately described his situation. Drifting. Floating. A little fuzzy as he walks through life. Never quite enough around him to take his attention wholly, completely, lingering fascinations that are left behind almost as fast as they are picked up.

Sure, there were probably a number of different ways to describe the indifference (apathy, impassivity, lack of concern). When he cared, he might write them all down.

So Armin continues to carry on, one foot in front of the other. The boat doesn’t rock, the lights don’t go out, and he has some semblance of control.

He can’t remember when it all stopped being drifting, and assuredly putting his feet on the ground. There was no exact pinpoint moment, where he can say ‘aha! of course!’. Day One wasn’t a concept for him, because maybe it had been Day Always. A stretch of time, going on and on, that no longer is a simple length of road ahead.

It becomes an orbit, and she is the centre, whether either of them are aware of it or not. 

Armin knows that he should care, somewhere, deep inside him. Sees the looks, takes all the signs. Boxes them neatly in the back of his mind, sealed with packing tape, marked ‘remember never’. All it is is the apathy, the indifference, the lack of concern. Muddled up with some light and joy and maybe a sprinkling of freckles that are only caught when close. 

Or maybe he never started drifting at all, and had been walking all along. Meant to find that resting place, where his toes find the edge of the world, and all he can do is leap. Eyes shut tight, free fall into the unknown. 

Good thing the unknown laughed at all his jokes. 

Strange to find things he hadn’t noticed. That he wakes up in the morning, rubbing the fuzz out of his eyes, meeting daylight with a grin. His centre, his orbit, his unknown, is light and bubbly and ever moving, ever changing. Multifaceted at every turn, but clear cut when seeing him.

Armin isn’t sure if he’s too young to make a decision, to mark this absolute as the ‘yes’ in a long line of nothing much. No turning back to check where his footprints had wandered, not even sparing a look over his shoulder. There might not have been any prints left at all, as he still hasn’t decided if he was simply floating all along, or dragging through time. 

She laughs. He grins.