Work Text:
I always wanted children, maybe because you weren’t there. I knew in my heart I would be there for you and that if you were here for me I would stop drowning, but since talking to you I’ve realized that might not be true. I would have named you Rose, after yourself. Or maybe after the flower itself. You always did have a hidden bloodlust, or maybe I’m thinking of your girlfriend. At least, I suspect you secretly enjoyed what you had to do. It is easy for you to lose yourself in thirst. Like Mother, like Daughter. But you are both, so something closer to sister.
Your girlfriend, I don’t understand but I think she is like me under the skin. Not in color but in the bones of wishing for birth, whatever that really means. In wanting to be the beginning and the end and the holding on forever but she and I both know that holding on also means letting go and I’m not sure if either of us know how to do that part.
I never wanted a son because I thought he would be too similar to someone else. I can’t stop seeing myself through the eyes of men, to the point that you are more like me than I am like myself.
I like to think your quiet confidence is because I raised you well but I didn’t raise you at all and that hurts more than not seeing your beginning.
Would I have a chance with one of them if I were both less and more myself? If I were not a girl? Because I don’t think so. I hope not because I think I try to disappear inside other people when I’m not trying to read the message at the end of the bottle.
I love you, with less worship than before but equal reverence I think, but I don’t know how to tell you any of this in a way that doesn’t spill over and somehow ruin it, like the soggy pages of a book. I don’t know how to tell you anything without slipping on words that still smell just a little like spoiled grapes, no matter how much I wash them.
I love you I love you I love you.
I never wanted a child, maybe because you were there. I spent so much time taking care of you that I stopped caring. Now that I’ve met you, I think that you were sincere. You are dramatic in a way I never imagined could be real. You feel things strongly, in a way I think I was supposed to but instead my feelings are muted, darker, slower. My brother, if I can call him that, is a different remix of his--our, if I can call him that--father. My brother’s emotions ooze out at the corners when he thinks they are shaded by irony (they are not, but maybe that’s because I stopped seeing shadows, eventually), while his father’s lash out bright and quick and so much more hidden that they are painfully obvious, and when I say painful I mean that they hurt, which I think you and my brother know all too well. Maybe that’s why my brother’s emotions bleed like a wound, soaking through the whiteness that is everywhere.
The whiteness I used to understand, but I think it’s when I stopped seeing shadows that I stopped understanding the whiteness. How many shades of gray do you think the trolls are hiding? I asked my girlfriend but she didn’t understand the question, maybe because she shines too bright to hear it properly. We hide behind the whiteness, but why? So we can be the same as something? So we can conform to a dead or dying world? Sometimes the others pretend the whiteness isn’t really that, but I think it is, or at least, it started that way.
But back to you. I am avoiding the subject because I don’t know what it is, what we are. I wish you’d had me there at least in the way that I had you, even though it was awful, not because I want bad things for you (what you had was maybe worse, anyway), but because I wish we were more similar, and then maybe your organs would be ok (or at least better), because I see you forget things and struggle to eat without pain and godliness doesn’t fix everything like I thought it would, because apparently martyrdom is more important than fixing things.
You know me better than I know you which is strange because you didn’t know me before, or maybe that’s why. I don’t know how to talk about myself so I talk about other people and sometimes something reflects back and I can use it like looking around a corner with a mirror, but with you it’s strange (we even have the same laugh, did you ever notice?) because too much reflects back and sometimes I wonder if I ever see what’s behind the reflection.
I love you (without the bitterness now), but I don’t know how to tell you any of this in a way that doesn’t sound like a hollow echo of your sincerity. I don’t know how to tell you anything without tripping on the mind games I’ve been playing against myself for so long.
I love you I love you I love you.
-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 11:13 --
TG: hey
TG: ily
TT: I had to look up what that meant.
TG: wait
TG: before u say a bunxhc of stuf
TG: *bunch
TG: just like
TG: u dont hav 2
TG: lick u can
TG: *like
TG: but i think sometinse u think u hav 2
TG: and u dont
TT: Okay.
TT: I love you too.
TT: I would like to hang out with you more.
TG: yeee me 2! ill txt u l8r w schelude stuff
TG: *schedule
TT: Where doing it man
TG: Where MAKING THIS HAPEN
-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 11:18 --