I can't stop thinking about Colin on his travels. Colin, alone, on a journey to 17 different cities, across several countries. Colin on his own.
Colin who writes letter after letter, to his family, to his friends, and barely gets a response back. How long before he understands that they didn't get lost in the mail? How long until he realizes that, just like when he was a boy, no one has the time for him? The space for him? How many letters unanswered before he lets it finally take root and fester in his mind?
He could have died on that tour.
Would they even notice? Would they see when the letters slow until they cease? Would they wonder why? His mum, surely (maybe, possibly, but she has enough on her hands, besides, and he's never been a concern, in need of her assistance, before), but anyone else? Anthony on his honeymoon, Eloise a stormcloud personified, Benedict taking on the familial responsibilities, Fran preparing for the marriage mart and in Bath, regardless. Daphne, his closest sister, a mum running her own estate.
Greg and Hyacinth who enjoy his stories, but are children.
Pen who ignores him. No explanation, no goodbye.
Colin who has no one in his corner. Colin who travels city to city, putting on personas. Will they like me? What about now? Colin who has hardly anything to read from the people he loves. Who do not think of him.
And yet he thinks of them. Brings them back gifts, writes his recollections for them until it hits him that, oh, they don't care. They don't care what he's doing, how he's doing. They didn't want to hear it before, when he was there with them, and they do not want to hear it now, either. Did they even open those envelopes? Did they see them come through the post, just as proof he's alive, and shrug off the contents? Did they look? Once, Colin sends an empty page. No one notices. Easier, then, to send just the outsides. People only ever care about the outsides. Pretty and prim in neat packages, uncaring of what lies beneath. Sea sick on the rocking boats, staring up at stars on the continent, Colin grows aware, but not bitter. Sad, but resigned.
He loves his family, he loves Pen, loves them to grace, loves them to it's okay. It was him, he determines. Too chatty, his letters too long, uninteresting, his passions dull or droll, or else, worse, he's displeased them in some way. Colin who takes refuge in stranger's arms and homes, who dreams and tries to sate his curiosity. Colin who pretends, because anyone, anyone but him would be received better, he's sure of it. Colin who must talk too much, surely, and with no one to listen. Colin who learns to hush.
Yes. Remarkable- as in, I have many remarks about it.
How many times did he go to excitedly write of what he did that week, and stopped himself, knowing it was a waste? How many times did he write and throw into the fire a letter asking Why don't you see me? Why don't you care?
If he didn't make it, how long would it take for anyone to notice? A month? Two? A year? Would they wave it off as his frivolity, denounce him as a flake and fume about the funds? Would they wonder where it was he had lost himself off at?
He cannot fall into that, so, he writes in his journal, instead. Of the ache of it, of how he longs for connection, for understanding, for someone to take him seriously. He keeps it with him, this log of his discontent, of his folly and felicity, of his pitfalls and pains.
If he didn't make it, would they realize all that's left of him is what he sent them, not even a body to bury? Did he look over the side of a bow of a boat and look at the churn of the ocean and think of how many bones it held? Did he tip his face to the sun? How many new scars did he earn? Who did he befriend?
Who did he become?
Somewhere along the line, Colin learned. He learned the real him wasn't wanted.
Somewhere along the line, somewhere between Patmos and Paris, Colin left Colin behind.
And, somewhere along the line, Colin laid face to face with loneliness in his bed, and it wrapped its arms around him.
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THB SPOILERS
"come off it, you know i'd die for you" makes me go absolutely bonkers whenever i read it but. how is it just now sinking in that that's the moment it Properly Clicked for lucy that she had to leave. she'd just seen the fetch wearing lockwood's face who told her that lockwood was going to die for her and then lockwood saves the day but literally confirms exACTLY WHAT THE FETCH SAID??? STRAIGHT TO HER FACE???? that would be so much for her to take in at once i need to go sit down.
i had genuinely been so consumed by that one line that i didn't make that connection despite it being SO BLATANT. i am ill.
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Finally realized that I like the enemies to lovers trope after YEARS of shipping catradora, klance, bakudeku, radiodust, soukoku, zhongven, and a shit ton more. Them bickering like idiots and acting like old married couples is just- beautiful 😭❤️
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Okay….
So, my aunt got me this movie as a kid. I freaking loved it…and was head over heels for the voice actor of Kenai…little kid me didn’t know who he was, but I was in love with his voice.
And only today do I learn that the voice actor is Joaquin freaking Phoenix….needless to say I’m floored…. I’ve been crushing on this dude’s characters since I was 6 (Kenai, Merrill Hess, Jack Daglish, Arthur Fleck/Joker). It’s like I’ve been emotionally connected to him since childhood or something, and I’m just now realizing it….no wonder my f/o-ing two of his characters (Merrill and Arthur) feels so normal. They are the culmination of a lifelong love for Joaquin and his incredible acting 🥹.
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