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03-14-2015, 09:02 PM
What.. just happened?
Who fucked up?
I want to say I fucked up. But damnit she fucked up first! Here she was, minding her own business trying to BATHE.. and I was mad. And then she made me not mad. And then I was mad but not mad and I couldn't EXPRESS myself properly. I wanted to hurt her and now I have and.... I didn't mean to. Not this way. I wanted to hurt her with careless remarks, superficial lashes meant to smart, not scar. I'm not fucking HEARTLESS. But then, I spoke seriously. I don't have friends. ('You have Voodoo.' Damaris dares to pipe up. I retort: 'He's different!') I've never seen someone take a self-criticizing comment so personally. Doesn't she realize that I was making a comment about myself, not about her?
And yet here she is crumbling like shattered stone in front of me. The statue that I've grown used to seeing is falling apart. I remain motionless, expressionless - the statue that she once was. She fucked up: she assumed we were friends, and turned my spitting fury into simmering, constipated irritation. I fucked up: by being honest, I wounded her more deeply than I had imagined. I left reopened invisible wounds, and these scars will be even worse than before. I feel like a dick. I feel, like a fucking dick. But all I have spoken is truth. I'm not going to lie to the woman just to try to make her feel better.
She stumbles back into the water, and I bury my face against my chest. How embarrassing. Now she is just a pathetic wreck. I look up again as she rises from the water's surface. Broken, wet - are those tears on those porcelain cheeks? I didn't mean to make her cry. A weighty sigh falls from my lips. What do I do? Do I fix this? Is it my responsibility to fix it? Am I supposed to? Is it right? I haven't really worked on mending relationships before. I haven't had relationships to mend. "It isn't you, it's me." Stiff, robotic. Is it just a line? I don't know. I don't really know what to say. "You are.. a nice and pretty mare. Not crazy, though I find you odd and sometimes off-putting. But I'm happy you're in the herd." You certainly can't accuse me of lying. It's not worth my time, not worth the energy. Not everything I say that's honest is nice, though. I'm sure she'll make of it what I will. I feel approval radiate from Damaris. She's always wanted me to be nice, to make friends, to make more of myself. This is perhaps the closest to an apology that December will get. The anger that was in every fiber of my being has faded, replaced by... I don't know what the feeling is. Exhaustion at trying to understand how to navigate a social life. Regret? No, I don't regret. Guilt?
Maybe a smidge.
WC: 496
Tag: @[December]
Who fucked up?
I want to say I fucked up. But damnit she fucked up first! Here she was, minding her own business trying to BATHE.. and I was mad. And then she made me not mad. And then I was mad but not mad and I couldn't EXPRESS myself properly. I wanted to hurt her and now I have and.... I didn't mean to. Not this way. I wanted to hurt her with careless remarks, superficial lashes meant to smart, not scar. I'm not fucking HEARTLESS. But then, I spoke seriously. I don't have friends. ('You have Voodoo.' Damaris dares to pipe up. I retort: 'He's different!') I've never seen someone take a self-criticizing comment so personally. Doesn't she realize that I was making a comment about myself, not about her?
And yet here she is crumbling like shattered stone in front of me. The statue that I've grown used to seeing is falling apart. I remain motionless, expressionless - the statue that she once was. She fucked up: she assumed we were friends, and turned my spitting fury into simmering, constipated irritation. I fucked up: by being honest, I wounded her more deeply than I had imagined. I left reopened invisible wounds, and these scars will be even worse than before. I feel like a dick. I feel, like a fucking dick. But all I have spoken is truth. I'm not going to lie to the woman just to try to make her feel better.
She stumbles back into the water, and I bury my face against my chest. How embarrassing. Now she is just a pathetic wreck. I look up again as she rises from the water's surface. Broken, wet - are those tears on those porcelain cheeks? I didn't mean to make her cry. A weighty sigh falls from my lips. What do I do? Do I fix this? Is it my responsibility to fix it? Am I supposed to? Is it right? I haven't really worked on mending relationships before. I haven't had relationships to mend. "It isn't you, it's me." Stiff, robotic. Is it just a line? I don't know. I don't really know what to say. "You are.. a nice and pretty mare. Not crazy, though I find you odd and sometimes off-putting. But I'm happy you're in the herd." You certainly can't accuse me of lying. It's not worth my time, not worth the energy. Not everything I say that's honest is nice, though. I'm sure she'll make of it what I will. I feel approval radiate from Damaris. She's always wanted me to be nice, to make friends, to make more of myself. This is perhaps the closest to an apology that December will get. The anger that was in every fiber of my being has faded, replaced by... I don't know what the feeling is. Exhaustion at trying to understand how to navigate a social life. Regret? No, I don't regret. Guilt?
Maybe a smidge.
Tag: @[December]
Rostislav
more than a drunken fool
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*You may do anything you wish with Rostislav excluding dismemberment and death.
