Current Residence: second star to the right and straight on til morning.
Favourite genre of music: all. (except country. which should die a slow, painful death.)
Another Time, Another PlaceAs they stood at the railing the lined the road, staring out into the water in a graceless cliché, she turned to look at him.Another Time, Another Place by ~blusteryautumnbreeze
“This has to be the end.” She said quietly. The corners of her eyes were wet, and her throat was raw from the effort of repressing her tears. “We can’t pretend this is nothing anymore.” The waves crashed against the side of the road, rhythmically and relentlessly, but they did not move the road. The tension hung between them like an unspoken injury, curling in and around them; both pulling them together and driving them apart.
“I don’t want to leave you.” He said, his jaw set, his gaze fixed on the horizon in a stalwart attempt to keep his emotions in check. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her arms cross, a nervous habit she had adopted from him.
“I know.” She said quietly, her angst tempered with sympathy. “But this can’t happen and we are incapable of…” Her v
Midnight RunJump City was never quiet, but at three in the morning there was an almost serene background noise that lent itself to the dark sky above. The hum of machinery, the crashing of waves, the stray car alarm, all collaborated for this beautiful night music. It was the perfect time for a run.Midnight Run by ~blusteryautumnbreeze
She pulled her hood far over her head, with just enough space above her eyes to see. Never mind her lack of peripheral vision- she didn’t need her eyes to have a keen sense of her surroundings. There was no easing into the run, she just set off at a mad sprint, her small, birdlike body cutting through the city streets with the ease of someone who has done this very thing many times over. There were many things she ran from: she ran from her past and she ran from her future. She ran from her family and her memories and her responsibilities and her strange, panging loneliness, until her throat ached from her labored breathing and her muscles screamed for relief. She ended up at the pier, and collap
Of Coffee and Quantum MechanicsA calculated risk is often worth the reward, but a foolish risk will leave your life in shambles. If my father were a man who condoned tattoos, I am sure he would have this quote trailing around his bicep, for all the world to see. Unfortunately for the world, my father detested tattoos and the people who sported them, so he settled on a plaque, hung above his desk in his lavishly furnished office. Unfortunately for my father, he was saddled with me: Twenty-one, dead-end job, no degree, and positively rife with tattoos. Sorry, Dad. My life, I’m sure, was the cautionary tale my father used when showing the plaque to his clients. And such was the tenuous relationship my father and I had. I really shouldn’t have been surprised when his receptionist told me that Mr. Madison didn’t have time for lunch with his estranged son, but I had hoped if I reached out and made the effort he would return the favor. But he probably thought I was trying to get money out of him or somethOf Coffee and Quantum Mechanics by ~blusteryautumnbreeze
Over"I'm waiting."Over by ~blusteryautumnbreeze
The note was barely legible; the paper looked as is it had been crumpled up and then smoothed out several times. Those two words, written carefully on the index card, were obviously a source of great inner turmoil for the author.
The phone lay next to the note, as it asking him to end the waiting, to end the suspense, to end all this fighting and to just let be.
But he couldn't do that, not after what she had said. She had hurled those words like throwing knives at him, and she was an incredible shot: each had found its mark.
And as much as he loved her, he couldn't pretend it had never happened. He could not forget that she had lost faith and he could not forgive what she had said.
He reached for the pen, head and heart still warring within him, and shakily wrote "I'm sorry" beneath her words.
That was it. The game was over.
She had been sitting by the window for hours, reading the same paragraph in her book over and over, never fully absorbing what it said. Absentminde