The Gospel Of Youth :: [JB Blitz // Calliope + Galaxy]
Sept 24, 2014 10:29:05 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Sept 24, 2014 10:29:05 GMT -5
I've been better.
In one way, I've been better because I sleep like a normal person sometimes (seven or eight hours without waking up in a cold sweat or screaming from nightmares), I've started eating breakfast again because all the nurses at Poe's hospital insist it's good for me (it feels like they might be right), and sometimes I even smile. Half the time the last one is because of a particularly clever jab I've taken at Wolfgang, who's become an unfortunate victim of my verbal target practice in my brother's unconscious absence (although he usually manages to give as good as he takes). Honestly though, something about seeing Galaxy again tugs at the corners of my mouth too. She's always liked me, regardless of whether I was a top-of-the-class goody two shoes or a mangy dropout with a rotten, hateful mouth and it's still weird to find myself in the same room with someone who isn't just thinking of excuses to leave.
In the other way, however, I've been better because today I'm worse. A long time ago I was happy because I just was. That's it. No particular reasons to be or not to be, no special context, no complications. That doesn't even matter today, because even with the reasons and context and complications... Galaxy is going into the Games. My chest fucking hurts as a Peacekeeper opens the door so I can visit her in the Justice building and I'm seeing her, but I'm not smiling today. I hate this room more than any words could ever say. Galaxy still can't really remember me and so she doesn't understand all the things that my being here for her means — the way this hurts in layers. It's okay for her not to know this, because one way or the other, I still don't know what to say. I just walk right up to her and hug her, as if the reach of my arms is trying to figure out which one of us feels smaller right now, and I start throwing words out of my mouth like kicking rocks off a rooftop. "You're going to be alright."
I don't know which one of us I'm talking to. I don't know if I'm being sincere. I don't even know if this is me being better... or worse.
In one way, I've been better because I sleep like a normal person sometimes (seven or eight hours without waking up in a cold sweat or screaming from nightmares), I've started eating breakfast again because all the nurses at Poe's hospital insist it's good for me (it feels like they might be right), and sometimes I even smile. Half the time the last one is because of a particularly clever jab I've taken at Wolfgang, who's become an unfortunate victim of my verbal target practice in my brother's unconscious absence (although he usually manages to give as good as he takes). Honestly though, something about seeing Galaxy again tugs at the corners of my mouth too. She's always liked me, regardless of whether I was a top-of-the-class goody two shoes or a mangy dropout with a rotten, hateful mouth and it's still weird to find myself in the same room with someone who isn't just thinking of excuses to leave.
In the other way, however, I've been better because today I'm worse. A long time ago I was happy because I just was. That's it. No particular reasons to be or not to be, no special context, no complications. That doesn't even matter today, because even with the reasons and context and complications... Galaxy is going into the Games. My chest fucking hurts as a Peacekeeper opens the door so I can visit her in the Justice building and I'm seeing her, but I'm not smiling today. I hate this room more than any words could ever say. Galaxy still can't really remember me and so she doesn't understand all the things that my being here for her means — the way this hurts in layers. It's okay for her not to know this, because one way or the other, I still don't know what to say. I just walk right up to her and hug her, as if the reach of my arms is trying to figure out which one of us feels smaller right now, and I start throwing words out of my mouth like kicking rocks off a rooftop. "You're going to be alright."
I don't know which one of us I'm talking to. I don't know if I'm being sincere. I don't even know if this is me being better... or worse.
