BreakingFourth's profile picture. You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness, like resignation to the end, always the end. --18+ RP--

Ainsley Matthews

@BreakingFourth

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness, like resignation to the end, always the end. --18+ RP--

おすすめツイート

+ legends, another hope that may never come to life...--


+ heard me anyway. But I'm still searching for that something incredible to make the hurt go away. Right now, it's just the stuff of +


+ a troublesome fly in a windowless room. So I left. I took the job. I started over. And I never even explained why. She wouldn't have +


+ from...nothing, shouting at empty space. There was no |substance| to what we had, nothing real, nothing truly awe-inspiring. I was just +


+ and realizing that it's just a puppet and a green screen and a lot of clever computer animation to cover it up, the actors running away +


+ welcoming. I began to see with new eyes, like someone getting a behind the scenes glimpse at how their favorite movie monster is made +


+ I hadn't....|done|....|anything| wrong. And so it all began to unravel. The love, the adoration, quickly turned to something much less +


+ conversations, all of our interactions, rewinding the DVR, and I began to defend |myself|. I |wasn't| wrong. +


+ I'd really gone wrong, |searching| for how I was really to blame. And once that window was opened, I began to look back over all of our +


+ front of me because I'd been over it so many times, something...clicked. And I began to analyze, frame by frame, searching for where +


+ a whim, an absulte uncertainty. But at some point, the shifting of moods or...the ability to really |hear|, |see|, what was right in +


+ been able to share it with her. Starting up another food truck couldn't possibly be an option. I couldn't ask her to uproot her life on +


+ and over again, feeling the hopelessness of knowing that I wouldn't get the chance to do something I loved, knowing that I hadn't even +


+ hastily left the room to give her her space. // It wasn't until later that I began to replay that conversation, punishing myself over +


+ I mumbled some excuse about needing to take a shower, offered a sincere apology - to which she still wouldn't meet my eyes - and +


+ hopeful exhilaration |squashed| in my chest, deflated, crushed... But still, I defended her in my mind, and castigated myself. +


+ talked to her first. I should have found a better method of delivery. I should have waited for a more opportune moment. I could feel the +


+ humiliation, rejection. I immediately censured myself, |blamed| myself. It was stupid, ill conceived, inconsiderate. I should have +


+ over. There would be no convincing her otherwise. I slumped in disappointment, the hammer of my heartbeat drumming to the rhythm of +


Loading...

Something went wrong.


Something went wrong.