#excerpt from a book i'll never write

[lilliesand-valleys]

[letterstokami]

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“I believed you even when I knew you were lying.”

- S. C. C.

[vomitingwords]

and then I learned

how to cry

without tears

falling from my eyes

behind clouds // ma.c.a

[cvtastrophee]

why do i feel like i'm killing myself over and over again?

[secretlyscribbled]

"I'm in a terrible fucking spiral again..."

[prosebyday]

This time of year is like a hall of mirrors, a haunting time of reflection.  I can’t look away from my past, everywhere I turn it stares me in the face, reminding me of where I was last year, 2 years ago, 3, 4, 5 – all the possible futures I envisioned and watched crumble. Oh, how things change. I am unrecognizable. 

Hall of Mirrors // Grazia Curcuru

[ninasdrafts]

(shortened)

[iluffyouxo]

ᴇʟ ᴄʜᴜᴘᴀᴄᴀʙʀᴀ

╰┈➤ ᴅᴀʀʏʟ ᴅɪxᴏɴ

Is there such thing as showing too much love on your sleeve? Is it obvious that I wish to mend your heart there?

⋰⋰⋰⋰

“Hey, has anyone seen Daryl? It’s getting kind of late.”

The sun beamed down, casting a golden glow that twinkled off of the dew dripping down from the array of trees scattered throughout the Greene’s farmland. Evening was falling upon us and, despite everyone else being on camp, Daryl had yet to return from searching for Sophia on horseback.

I look up at Andrea who had taken to watch since early this afternoon.

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen your little boyfriend since this morning.”

I glare up at her, “He’s not my boyfriend, asshole. I’m just worried about him since he’s the only one who hasn’t returned yet.”

She chuckles but simply waved me off, as she sits down in her chair, removing her hat to wipe the sweat off her brow.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

I stalk off with a defeated sigh. I glanced around to find everyone doing idle things around camp.

T-dog was sitting at one of the picnic tables tending to some of our more rustier guns, Carol was chatting with Lori about what to make for dinner that night and Glenn was talking to Dale about something or other in the RV. It seems I was the only one worried over nothing. I sigh again, “Andrea was the last person I could ask.”

I sulk back over towards the house, I was in desperate need of a shower after today’s search.

“NOOOO!” Rick’s desperate wails bounced off the walls of the farm house.

It was complete and utter chaos. I stood stuck on the steps of the porch as an unconscious Daryl was dragging past me, rushed for the aid of Hershel Greene. Andrea followed not too far behind, she gripped onto my hand. She looked mortified.

“Bishop…I-I shot Daryl.”

Her mouth seemed to move in slow motion.

Her words barely sounded above a whisper but, they rung heavy in my ears. For far too long my mind couldn’t fathom her voice.

“I thought he was a Walker! He was covered in dirt and blood…he was limping like the dead! I’m so sorry.” Andrea’s tone grew louder, yet I still heard her as if her words were muffled behind a door.

“You shot Daryl…?” It was the only thing I could croak out before twisting out of her grip and racing after Rick and Shane. “Andrea shot Daryl!?”

The pounding of my chest burned with anxiety as I pushed past the few people that had crowded in the doorway of where Daryl lay, still unconscious. My shoulders slumped. He seemed so peaceful, bleeding against the freshly bleached white bedsheets.

“Oh, Daryl….”

I had never wanted to see his blue eyes more than in that moment.

“Hershel says he’ll be okay, he was just grazed. But, the side of his torso was stabbed through by one of his bows. He’ll be awake in a few hours.”

Rick had sat me down in the parlor, Maggie handed me a glass of water before sitting down beside me at the table. Grateful, I chug the water before releasing a hefty sigh—the coolness extinguished the constant burning in my throat. “Thanks…both of you.”

Rick nods, squeezing my arm, before excusing himself to go check on Andrea. I slouch in my seat and sigh for the umpteenth time. The image of Daryl being dragged to the house by Rick and Shane, slump against their shoulders, was a memory I’d rather soon forget. It was enough to give me nightmares, I’m sure. I toss my head into my hands, “Dammit all to hell.”

“Bishop…are you, by chance—“ Maggie seemed hesitant with her words, I glance up at her between my fingers, “—are you with Daryl?”

I blink at her. “…What d’you mean am I ‘with’ Daryl?”

“I’m asking are you dating him, because you seem really distraught right now.”

I was taken aback for a moment. Whilst everyone called Daryl my boyfriend, no one’s ever actually believed in those sentiments (or, rather, I liked to think they didn’t). Daryl’s the closest thing I have to a best friend in this clusterfuck, of course I’d be concerned.

“No, I’m not dating Daryl. We’re just kinda close…acquaintances.”

Maggie shook her head at me. “Acquaintances wouldn’t cry over seeing the other bedridden.” She smiles softly at me before stalking off to the kitchen to begin prepping for tonight’s dinner.

“This place is a mess.”

After walking out of the farmhouse, Maggie’s words weighed on my mind. I had taken a moment to stroll about the farm—something I had neglected to do up until now—I found myself a little ways away from camp at the edge of a cliff that overlooked river, forest and mountains. The sight was breathtaking.

“I wonder if Daryl would appreciate this?”

At the mention of his name Maggie’s voice once again wondered to the forefront of my thoughts. Did I care for Daryl more than what I let on? Did he care for me?

That’s when I caught myself stumbling into his tent, a sanctuary amidst a rat’s nest. The state of it left me speechless.

“Does he ever clean up around here?”

There were dirty clothes thrown about the place, a putrid smell from discarded squirrel carcasses hung heavy in the air and broken bows lay in a pile on the corner of his cot. The answer to my question was evident.

My nose crinkled in disgust. “He can’t possibly be comfortable in these conditions, more less recover!” Eyeing his space again, I nod to myself with found resolve. “I’ll just have to clean this place up myself.”

Rain pitter-pattered on the roof, raindrops slow danced on the windowpanes. I was throwing out the last bit of trash from Daryl’s tent when it began to drizzle. As the storm picked up more and more the group trickled into the house as the dinner hour grew closer.

I was watching the world turn into a blur through one of the parlor windows when Maggie tapped me on the shoulder, a soft glow admitted from her warm smile.

“The first person he asked for was you.”

It took me no time to understand what she meant. “Daryl’s awake?” I come to an abrupt stand. I rap at the bedroom door before she could give me an answer. A beat passes before a gruff voice invites me in. I burst the door open. “Daryl!”

His eyes are a gentle blue. They were pretty. He was pretty, even in this disheveled state. I smile, “You’re awake.”

Daryl nods and averts his gaze towards the window. “Sounds like ‘s gonna be a thunderstorm tonight.” I hum, still staggering in the doorway. He pats the spot next to him on the bed, I sit down on the edge of it.

“Would you like me to stay?”

Daryl says nothing but a brief nod of his head. I’m sure being afraid of thunder is never his proudest moment, but I didn’t mind.

I…appreciated the vulnerability he shared with me. The trust he has in me.

I curl my pinky finger around his. He raises a brow at me. “Next time you want to search for your chupacabra…make sure to take me with you.”

Daryl laughs aloud at that. “Ya got it, Bishop.”

I grip his pinky tighter. I’m afraid to admit it but, I guess everyone was right. I realize now that I’d like nothing more than for Daryl Dixon to be my boyfriend.

[palladiumfragments]

my fingerprint was in the things i didn't say

all the things i didn't say is a tortured poet whose pockets i filled with stones and coaxed into walking into a lake down, down she goes never to be seen again. deep within, you know i, too, struck a match that led us to this precipice but without a body, mystery shrouds it like a story the townspeople think they know until you ask them about it.

so say the hard things one last time, your heart in your throat words hesitantly falling like a light summer rain. at the same moment, i was staring at the crash playing over your face like a see-through film scene. necessary lies filled the spaces where it could have been i tell myself, "better that than asking for forgiveness" i was already mad enough to let it haunt me it's these hands i can't stain.

soon, this case will turn cold confined in polaroids collecting dust in an evidence room fleeting, but in a way, timeless. i'll never speak of it again but nostalgia is the god i believe in so forgive me if i would still hear it in songs feel it in the shadows, bleed it into poems but darling if i spilled my guts you'll be the last to know.

[lilliesand-valleys]

[charmingwinds]

I read somewhere that the act of peeling oranges for someone is considered love. I found it stupid.

Then one day, I was home after a tiring day and there were oranges sitting on the counter. I knew they had to be eaten that day, a day later, they’d be rotten.

I was just too tired.

I completed my chores, and the oranges were still there, colourful and nudging, hoping I’d pick them up.

I walked past, and found my bed. My head comfortably rested on the pillows.

Those damn oranges.

I got up, sat on the counter and peeled them grudgingly. As I ate in silence, I understood what they meant. It was love alright, not peeling oranges but being taken care of.

[trustonlystars]

Poetry is the softest way to hold a memory.

Happy World Poetry day | trustonlystars

[cvtastrophee]

i have yet to find the end to this pain.

[letterstokami]

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“Do you have any idea of how many little things remind me of you everyday?”

- S. C. C.