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If the Poetry is SufficientIt was amazing how fast Giovanni fell asleep after saying something like that. I was sure I would never sleep again, and it certainly didn't help that he was clinging to me like ink on a letter. After he'd gone still, and his breathing was well beyond the realm of faking sleep, I lifted his arms off of me and wriggled out of the bed. He actually grumbled in his sleep, which didn't improve the tremors skating on my nerves, but I managed to stand up.
My hands felt like they were vibrating, and my legs were worse. A thick chill wrapped itself around my bones and freckled into my skin like shrapnel, wrestling a sneeze from me immediately after I'd taken a step away from the bed. I made a face, trying not to look at my hand. Tissue.
There was a box of them on the nightstand. They were a little dusty, but in my current state, I only cared that they were dry. Ugh, there was no way to avoid looking at it.
Vesi Vanhin Voitehista 10The rest of the day was quiet. Taivuttaa felt this could be safely attributed to the long nap he had collapsed into soon after returning to the office, but he didn't want to trust any assumptions just yet. Harsh light from the streetlamp outside his window cut through the blinds and striated a square section of the carpet. He sat on the edge of the bed and tapped his foot, watching the grains of the carpet brush against the vibrant white and grey of the sock. It wasn't very late, in spite of the streetlamp. He looked up at the door and half-expected to hear a knock.
Novi had mentioned back-logging paperwork and the door to his own room being open, but Taivuttaa wasn't sure if he should take it as an invitation or leave the man alone until morning. He'd never spent so much time out of the sphere of Algorithm's annoyed guardianship. On the one hand, he didn't want to worry about it, but on the other, he worried
Buckley's Chance_Level 8The old bag was sipping a tea and something surreptitious stirred in, creaking as she continued to age in the comfy chair my father usually camped in. He was standing at her side like a triumphant soldier at the end of a particularly bloody war, just smiling at everyone. He was happy, because he could play make-believe as long as Gran was around.
As for my mother, she and Gran had never got on wellofficially they had a relationship based on approval and acceptance from Gran, and respect and a bit of obedience from my mother, but they really were not what anyone would call 'friends'.
When my father took trips by himself, my mom would stay home with me for a little while and complain about him and his mother. Those were the companionable times she and I both loved openly, but they were shorter than I liked.
I poured her a cup of the coffee that she and I were passing off as Earl Grey. It helped that we were on the opposite side of the roo
Buckley's Chance_Level 7Three days. No matter what I did, at the back and sometimes forefront of my mind, I was still standing on the porch watching that stupid Carebear sticker on the rear window of the car as Squid crawled back to his damn parents. What good was it being lucky enough to be attracted to a nice decent person if he was just going to ditch me in the name of being decent?
I could even see myself standing there pathetically upright and not punching anything at all. I hated feeling like such a total milksop, and it was even worse when I started acting like one. It was three damn days and I still slept on the living room couch, with the phone near my soft, squishy, damp head.
The knock on the door had gone unanswered for those three days, which meant it was four days since I'd even seen Jussi. That was how screwed up I'd gotten, and it was stupid. If he didn't call to ask what the hell was wrong with me, then I would have to c
Buckley's Chance_Level 6Okay. Right. Let's just find our footing here, Self. For a few seconds, I just ran on automatic. Somebody I had begun to like rather a lot was kissing me. And even more surprising, he was more than a little good at it. I backed up until I found the wall, then slumped against it to equalize the difference in our heights. He didn't seem to think it was a problem. He just held on to me a little desperately and asserted himself. He was even smiling as much as this kind of activity allowed.
Automatic accounted for a lot of activity. I grabbed the first bits of his clothing that I could reach in a hurry and yanked him as close to me as I could get him without breaking any physical laws. He let out a squeaky gasp, which opened the way for a new level of automatic advantage on my part.
He obviously knew more about what he was doing than I would have given him credit, but dr
Buckley's Chance_Level 5Waking up without a hangover was becoming routine for me, which was creepy. Especially since we'd had a little celebratory lunch after I'd gotten the stitches out. Too bad Squid couldn't gohe'd had to sneak out just to meet us at the hospital, and I didn't know what he'd gone home to deal with. I doubted it was CNN's style of scary, but for a timid kid, just getting yelled at was probably hell.
Still, he'd called Riley in the evening, said he'd be over in the afternoon. She hadn't told me any more than that, but the kid had my cell number. If he wanted me to personally know something, he'd tell me.
I dragged myself out of the bed, running my hand along the wall until I found the light switch. My alarm clock claimed it was 6:30, and it was backed up by the fact that the window was not helping the light bulb. I pulled a shirt on, debated the question of pants, then found a pair and allowed
Inevitable XVIIIHe didn't interrupt me, even once. Granted, I didn't use many words, just... about Robin. And about the baby. Van's baby. M-m-mmmy baby. But when I finished that first part, the one that I was sure would make him freak out right through the damn wall, Van just bit his lip and looked past my shoulder. His nose twitched slightly, and the arm lying across his stomach relaxed.
My own stomach was rotating in several lurching directions, doing everything but moving me around with it. I swallowed hard. Any second now, he was gonna blow up, or cry. All those hormones and things. Babies caused those, didn't they?
I had to tell him the rest, I knew I had to tell him. That was part of it, after all. If I let him just go through this, I'd never ever know if he hadn't just done it because he didn't know he didn't have to. Because I had kept my m
Buckley's Chance_Level 4What a nice kid. I had to hand it to him, he had a cool head in a difficult place. Of course, I was arctic, but that was all part of not giving a shit. No one else held that particular view in this situation, and that was a wonderful thing. Riley had taken care of my paperworkI assumed this because she was the only person who knew I was in the hospital and also knew my first name. People who knew my first name were in short supply.
They'd stitched me up really quickly, and now my hand looked like a very short scene from Kenneth Branagh's production of Frankenstein. The good one with all the beautiful people who actually knew how to read. No Igor, just a phone on the depressing little table. And an IV.
The blood transfusion had been fun. It had been a long time since I'd gotten a lecture from a nurse four times my size. This one was apparently called Penny Wallace.&
Nervous MovementYou're a dime a dozen in a sea of billions.
Individuality has no significance in numbers so vast.
And while this fact makes looking forward hard
we can't keep living in the past.
You're a nervous movement in a freeze frame scene.
Steady hands won't help hold up such a fragile act.
And while you take your time keeping character
you fake what you can't take back.
With nothing more than a thought we form our actions
and this is where we extinguish the lie they tried to invent.
The lie that we painted our lives without passion
well conclusions are useless with no attempt to commence.
You're a song I can't name stuck in my head.
I've listened to you before and probably will again.
And while I can hum the melody all day long waiting
for it to hit me I still won't know where you've been.
You're a gust that has never changed direction.
Nothing can touch you you're only felt as you brush skin.
And while you can't be stopped nothing lasts
nothing escapes time not even the wind.
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