He smells like he’s been sleeping in the gutter, and Lovino isn’t exactly sure that wasn’t the case when he looks at dark purple bruises along the man’s arm and messy platinum hair. Gilbert just smiles cockily at him, like he doesn’t know he looks like complete and utter(more) shit, moving his fingers to grab at Lovino’s ass.
Lovino wants to swat him away and ask what the hell happened, but for a moment Gilbert’s eyes meet his and he sees a flash of…pain? It’s only for a moment, but he knows it was there, so he softens his expression and moves out of the doorway.
“Get the fuck in. You need a bath.”
“You offerin’ to take one with me?”
And suddenly that cocky grin is replaced with a genuine smile, and Lovino can see just how tired the other really is. “Stop doing dumb shit and making me worry about you,” he finally mumbles out, leading Gilbert to the bathroom.
“It’s nice to have someone that’ll worry about me.”
I thought it carried all the evaporated then condensed in the clouds tears of all the seven billion people in the world
- who had reason to cry, at least, but a baby has reason to cry, because he or she needs milk or food or rest or(more) a hug and no one understands what he or she needs and it's so frustrating when people give you what they think you need but you really don't need it -
and I thought it hustled along with it yellow reeds or blades of grass or bendy twigs that bound us all together
- I guess these were the ones that couldn't hold on; they broke off and were washed away -
but of course most of this wasn't tears
- we think we're the center of the universe -
and those long plant appendages tumbled away in the miniature currents.(less)
He's got his hands around my waist, sniffing in my hair just to tell me it's "okay."
There's the smell of curry and rice drifting in from the kitchen, stomach growling in protest as I try not to dry heave or make him feel bad. His emotions are(more) tangled and distorted and he's pushing them outwards. It makes me feel even more sick.
"When's the next case?"
"Kale doesn't want you working until you're better."
"And what does he constitute as better?"
I take a moment to look at him as he pushes around the potatoes and carrots, tea left untouched. He curls a hand in his hair and sighs.
it took me a long, long time
((a year and a half))
(more) to get out of the sewers
((the mental health ward))
a push of the wind
and i pinwheeled
((two bottles of xanax))
into the darkness.
((soft, still-watered bathtub))
i was pulled
to where all the empty end up
and i sat there to fester
in my own pain
for a long time.
((on my upper thigh))
they tried to help me
((meds, smiles, bright balloons))
but i didn't want to be saved
((taking help was no option))
until i saw my reflection
((the hospital bed next door))
to understand that i couldn't
((rip girl from rm 394))
go on this way.
((sorry i missed the funeral))
i grabbed your extended hands
and i was not the girl in the room next door
because i clawed the hell out of there.
Gutters are always a problem. Around the perimeter of your roof, they often collect leaves and "stuff" that makes water hard to flow through them to the downspouts. Gutters on copy mean you haven't been real careful editing your copy and a sentence just doesn't look good with a(more) gutter hanging out there. Sometimes people who don't feel very respected say they've been thrown to the gutter, and that's hard to argue with because we don't take very good care of those who aren't respected.(less)