#weakwas

“ how long---” he genuinely wondered how LONG could she hold this vendetta. he went back to Boston, he did things he shouldn’t have---but her constant bickering would drive anyone mad.    “ i’m sick of the arguing, viv. we love each other, we started over for a reason.” 

     beau. she knows him. he plays be her side, ball passing her feet as she stands in the sunlight streaming through the attic window. she knows beau. she knows him. she  --  they don’t speak. he can’t and she won’t. she stands instead, hand on the window, watching the street. for hours. days. months, even. it passes without her noticing, until something comes and pulls her away. moira, sometimes. tate, once or twice. two little girl’s who pour her tea made of air. a party. a tea party. she used to have those, she thinks. with another little girl. her little girl. 

GHOSTLY    PALE  ,     HE    LINGERS   ,     lurking    behind   doorframe  ,    unsure    in    his    pacing    of    the    hallway  .      it    was    an    accident  ,     he    rehearses  ,     squeezing    palm    where    blood    oozes    from    self   -   inflicted    wound   ,      i   just    wanted    to    see    how    sharp   it    was    !      finally  ,     a    last    shuddering    breath  ,      threshold    into    the    room    is    crossed  .     voice    small  ,     with    quake    hidden    inside  .           ❛            –––––        mom   ?             ❜