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Sometimes I get frustrated with people but I remember it's everyone's first time living.

Maybe they're making it difficult for me but I imagine they must make it pretty difficult for themselves too.

I hope they find a way to make it easier.

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I have such a love hate relationship with tragedy

Yes it will end badly, I'm reading it anyway and I'm going to be upset when the bad things happen

Othello kills his wife

Orpheus looks back at Euridice

Eve eats the fruit

Doomed my the narrative and doomed by one another IM GONNA BE SICK

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Elsewhere

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i just think it's important to understand that love is not the antithesis of horror in fact it's often the catalyst

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do you guys think jesus, the son of a carpenter, smelt the wood of the cross & temporarily thought of home

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Idk something about sunlight filtering through leaves and the pretty shades of green makes life seem like Its worth living

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my mother was a little girl once. who played with dolls and had crushes, and fussed about her clothes, and told her mother she didnt like dinner and was made to sit at the table until she finished anyway.

some things dont change.

she's her mothers daughter. she all i can hope i will and wont be. shes all i can hope to become, and to plead that i wont.

and shes trying her best. and shes doing her best.

and she tells me she loves me, she believes it.

and i believe her because i hope i can. because to her im the girl that played with dolls. i fussed about my clothes, i didnt like dinner and sat at the table until it was cold.

and i tell her i love her. and i believe it. and i hope she does too.

maybe believing each other is enough. i hope she means it when she tells me it because i have to take her word for it. i cant get in her head to find out. but im sure if i could, there'd be a little girl in there somewhere playing with dolls. it could be her, it could be me.

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I tread along the pavement,

dagger heavy in my hand weighed down with the consequences of what is to come

julius my dear fool,

when you turn in your ruin, know it is not out of anguish, nor jealousy that i strike,

but out of necessity

for as the river does not flow without reason, neither does your blood

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I trusted you as a son, a brother in arms.

and so I trust you with my back turned, a horrible misteak.

they run me through, time and time again, insatiable.

and now you stand before me, the look in your eyes is burned into my skull.

not hatred or regret, not even fear.

disappointment.

you deal the final blow, it is your right I think.

I know what I have done, now it is up to you to fix it, or perhaps they will send you to the chopping block next.

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Lighthouse in Harbor

you're distant.

in a way you always have been. never letting anyone get to close. I respected that about you.

perhaps it's because I get attached to people all to quickly, feel safe much to soon. I figured you were a bit different.

a sense of comrodery, whispers we didn't share with anyone else. the trust I must have had to spill myself to you, every thing I couldn't hold on my own. and in turn I carried yours.

to me you were a calm harbor in a storm, somewhere I could go when the waves were too much. quiet and comforting.

we were good friends, or that's how I felt. I'm not sure what your take was, and now I don't think I'll ever get to hear it.

perhaps it's only my fault for getting close to someone again. knowing when I do they are bound to leave, that's it's inevitable no one will want to stay.

the unavoidable guilt and the horrid silence that follows your departure clings to me.

I would apologize for whatever I may have done, but I fear you are to far to hear me.

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Cheesecake -

You’d like to help? Just stay out from under foot, you can do the mixing.

It’s a warm welcome and a promise, work for reward.

Sunlight through the curtains, birdsong just beyond the glass.

It's time to make the crust.

He offers me to leave while he crushes the graham crackers, I stayed.

The rolling pin bashes against the counter, the resounding wood on marble echoes, echoes, echoes.

And it's over. No more. My hands are off my ears now.

Crumbs pour into a bowl. You can put the butter in, careful it's hot.

Cream cheese and sugar to start, separate from the crust of course.

As promised I get to mix, there’s resistance to the spoon so he helps.

Taste test? It's an offer more than a question, he holds the spoon up.

I swipe a bit, it’s not too sweet or bitter and it's smooth on my tongue. Vanilla.

He smiles at my approval and pours the rest into the pan.

I noticed he put the crust in while I was busy with the spoon, he preferred to do that himself.

He’s in the cupboard, with a can of pie filling. Pie filling for cheesecake?

It's a topping he says, cherry cheesecake.

He plops half the can onto our canvas, and I watch as he swirls it with a toothpick.

His own work of art.

Now the hard part he says, we wait.

Tick, tick, tock, time has never been slower.

We feed the fish, we watch tv, and a documentary. Of what I don’t recall.

The timer goes off, but he’s in the kitchen.

He walks back into the living room, two plates in hand.