#* 𝕒𝕚𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤𝕙 : thread .

[aislinswalsh]

elicts​:

as she speaks, he finds his hands mirroring hers without knowing; clasped firmly together in front of him as if he needs to find purchase in something. hands that had once sought that kind of comfort from her, now in a desperate attempt to hold a grip on reality for every gentle pull at his fingertips. “aha yeah… all feels a little suffocating after a while, doesn’t it?” except, when he says it, he can’t help but think of a time when it hadn’t. when being at a busy event meant next to nothing as it felt more like the entire universe could peel away to just two parts by being in attendance with her.  then one, when his hand would find hers and she’d smile. part of him had always thought that what he had found with aislin was it. his grand love story. carved out in ballrooms and in parks by a teenager who was enamoured with the feeling of freedom as much as he was with her. distance would mean nothing. not for him. a heart as vast as the ocean could not be deterred by a sea of distance between them. convinced, that determination alone would suffice. a want to fight for what they had would be enough. yet, for every picture perfect detail of such a love existing between his parents; evidence, in his mind, that it was possible, they had never quite prepared him for what to do when you were no longer on the same page. 

eliot turns around. finally. by sheer will of knowing that they’re two individuals who are tied together by a past and again by circumstance. ( the hands of fate had a sense of humour, that’s for certain ). but most importantly, out of the sheer respect that he still holds for her. “you’re welcome,” it feels foreign to say in the context, quiet as it leaves his mouth ever so politely. “you… you don’t need to explain yourself to me. it’s —” fine? “with everything that has been happening lately, a few nice letters that i wasn’t even supposed to find… seem kind of …” don’t say nice. not again. “nice.” at least she can’t see him physically cringe behind his mask. a small piece of respite. followed shortly by a shake of the head that does so well at disguising the truth. more so than words that will reveal far too much to someone who knows most of his idiosyncrasies. he had. 

 the  eliot  she  had  known  illuminated  rooms  when  he  walked  in.  he  couldn’t  see  it,  but  it  was  all  caught  in  the  net  of  her  own  ocean  eyes.  he  could  produce  the  sort  of  smile  seen  on  the  protagonist  of  a  teen  movie  when  they  fall  in  love  at  first  sight.  the  kind  of  smile  that  showed  their  lead  lost  in  a  daydream.  the  kind  she  adorned  when  he’d  come  up  to  her  to  say  hello.  same  smile  she  wore  every  day  after,  until  she’d  forgotten  how  to  smile  entirely.  she  wasn’t  the  only  one  who  could  see  him.  it  brought  her  shame  to  think  of  all  the  nights  she  wished  she  was.  the  world  they  found  themselves  getting  lost  in  was  more  like  a  bubble.  just  because  others  couldn’t  get  inside,  didn’t  mean  they  couldn’t  look.  or  get  close  enough  to  pop  it.  of  that  aislin  was  sure.  she  just  didn’t  expect  it  would  be  her  own  hand  to  give  them  what  she  thought  they  were  waiting  for.  distance  would  change  everything.  especially  to  her.  a  heart  as  delicate  as  annealed  glass  known  to  break  in  long,  jagged  shards  just  wanted  to  save  them  both  from  injury.  they  had  a  love  built  for  memories.  at  least  she  could  hold  on  to  that.  may  not  have  been  a  happy  ending,  but  she  spared  herself  the  break  of  a  heart  caused  by  him  tiring  of  her.

 “  it  doesn’t  always  have  to  be.  it  didn’t  use  to  be.  suffocating.  i  mean.  ”  much  like  this  conversation.  apologies  she  wanted  to  spew.  explanations  she  wanted  to  give.  all  clamored  at  her  throat,  making  it  feel  tight.  there  was  too  much  she  wanted  to  say,  and  not  nearly  enough  words  in  the  english  language  to  help  her  say  it.  there  was  no  guide  on  what  to  do  when  you  hurt  a  good  man,  because  you  anticipated  him  hurting  you.  “  so  you  did  read  it.  ”  nice  letters.  it  made  the  knots  in  her  stomach  tighten.  sure.  it  was  a  nice  letter.  you  were  typically  nice  when  declaring  your  likeness  of  someone  who’d  never  feel  the  same.  “  i  mean.  you’re  right,  it’s  always  nice  to  receive  a  nice  letter.  doing  nice  things,  for  nice  people.  all  very...  ”  why  couldn’t  she  stop  saying..  “  nice.  ”  a  quick  sigh  followed,  along  with  an  embarrassed  laugh.  “  i’m  sorry,  i  don’t  know  why  i  said  that.  ”  of  all  the  things  she  could  say,  she  wished  she  had  said  anything  else.