Two things!:



ANON LOVE MEME


Because this place needs more spam! Everyone wants to feel loved sometimes~.


And:

city of solace	♥	♣	♦	♠
The kingdom had always possessed superior military force, whether in magic or technology. It was what had made the country prosper over the centuries, especially during the reign of their most recent King. His goal was something truly ambitious: to meld science and magic to create a power no neighboring country would ever threaten. And so to make this great weapon, the best Academics in the land set to work on an experiment. In the Old Capital of Solace they gathered to do their research and develop what their sovereign desired, and finally the much-awaited day came: they would test their new hybrid weapon on a very small scale in the labs below the city. But something went wrong – none of the scholars knew how or why but the substantial power they’d sought to harness went awry, yielding not a weapon but instead something far more fearful to the citizens of Solace. Foreigners from strange lands they’d never heard of began to appear throughout the city, seemingly out of thin air, and it wasn’t long before reports of these incidents reached the King. Thus it was that the city of Solace was put under quarantine, these alien individuals collared and kept within its walls until the nature of their arrival could be determined. Welcome, uninvited guest, to your new world.
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Check them out when you have time! ♥

So I guess there's always a time in your life when you realize, "Shit. I guess I really did fuck up this time." And when you do realize it, it's always at the point where you can't exactly do anything to change it, nor can you really do anything to make up for it. It's always at that point where it finally hits you how much you've done to hurt someone for really selfish reasons, that could have been avoided if you'd only spent more time to work out the solution.

And I guess it's also at that point where you wish you could start over again, but haha, it's not gonna work out that way because you can't exactly start over your whole entire life unless you kill yourself.

You know, you haven't exactly been that great from the start. Raising you must've been just as bad as raising a kid with multiple disabilities. Except you can't exactly compare yourself to them because it's not like they actually wanted to have disabilities. Sometimes, I wonder if you still remember that time you pissed her off so much, she cried. And I wonder if you remember how scary it was because she never fucking cries. Ever. I wonder if you remember how it made you feel as you stood there, outside the kitchen not knowing what the fuck you should do because you were ten and you knew nothing then. Eight years later, it's still branded to the back of your brain, albeit just a little fuzzy around the corners.

Sometimes, I wonder if you remember what she looked like back then. Pale and thin and breakable. And you've always been scared because since the time you could speak, you knew she wasn't pale and thin and breakable. She was always a force to be reckoned with. She was the backbone of the house because he was always too worthless to do anything. I wonder if you still remember that time you left your dinner to feed her toast that you had to tear up into tiny pieces because she was too tired to chew. And the goldenrod yellow light from that dinky old desk lamp that made her cheekbones look so sunken in, you had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn't just a five foot skeleton resting on the comforter.

And even though she was pale and thin and breakable, she kept going and going. And she never stopped. And when they asked you, oh how is your mother doing? You'd smile and say, oh... Mommy is doing well. Thank you for asking. I wonder if you remember how the words tasted in your mouth; rancid and dusty.

I wonder if you remember how they blamed you.

Because breast cancer can be caused by a third grader.

But you know, you were sneaky. You always kept it to yourself. And when you cried, you only cried in the bathroom because they hate it when you cry. Because they'll only tell you that crying doesn't solve anything. And only when you can't hold it in anymore do you quietly excuse yourself, head down, hands clenched into tiny, tiny fists. You'd cry as quietly as you could because it wouldn't do to let them find out.

Because failing any more would only make it worse.

And throughout that whole entire time, you've never made it easier for her. And he never made it easier for her either. And you always kept failing and failing. To the point where you just didn't want to do anything anymore because it wasn't going to work out anyway. And she'd always tell you stories of her, of how she worked so hard despite being poor... of how she never gave up her studies and you always were proud and devastated at the same time.

Proud because that was your mother. Devastated because you could never be like her.

Sometimes, I wonder if you remember why you've never liked Christmas. If you remember why you never wanted to celebrate it, why you avoid knives on that day. And I wonder if you remember the metallic shine that flashed across her face that night, that horrible numbing feeling in your legs. That was the first time she hugged you, later that night. And it would probably be the very last. It was also the first time you decided marking yourself would feel good, because that's what everyone did then and you were always a follower. And you realized how empty the house was. How empty you were. And you still never said a word. And it's still there. It's always there. You can't forget it even though that was three years ago. And typing it hurts just as much as saying it, but you're not gonna stop because you figure if you've been hurting her so long, you might as well take some of that pain.

Maybe that's why you keep saying it. Maybe that's why you keep hurting. Just so you can hear the disappointment in her voice that makes your heart sink into your stomach and feel it burn from the acid. And you get nauseated and cold and dizzy. And you don't stop. Because in a way, you deserved this. Because you don't know how to apologize.


And now you're eighteen. And you're still failing. And she's still hurting. And when you look back, it feels just like a dream, doesn't it? It'd probably be better if it was. But see, things don't usually work out this way. And you've never said a word. Ever. Because you hate showing this side of you. Because you're always scared, always ashamed. Because you never wanted anyone else to call you a murderer.

Because in the end, you might just be. And come tomorrow, everything will just wash off like water over a duck's feathers. And you'll forget. And you'll keep failing and you'll keep hurting. Because that's what you've always been good at.





Sometimes. I wonder if you've bothered to care at all.