Post by Katpride on May 28, 2023 0:06:20 GMT
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“-and it isn’t like it matters, anymore, so what’s the point? What’s the point?” Lark’s voice trails off into nothingness, and they sniff once before wiping their nose roughly on the sleeve. Their voice sounds rough, but they don’t worry too much about that when they only have themself for company.
“When do I tell them? How? How do you tell a person something like that?” They look down at their hands, then at the same hands trembling in the corner of their eye. They’re shaking, but that’s alright.
Actually, no. No it isn’t. Nothing is alright. They sniff again, breathing shallow as they make a last futile effort to swallow back the tears building behind their eyes. The desk leg digging into their side will surely leave a mark, but they can’t be bothered to move beyond an uncomfortable shift, curling their legs up into their chest.
“Will they miss me?”
Their voice cracks, and they press their hand to their mouth as though that could stop the words from falling out into reality. The thought of being mourned, of being missed, of being gone forever and ever and ever, only increases the tremors. They’ve held out this long, but they’re shaking apart at the seams. Tears stream down their face, warm and damp with the slight tang of salt.
“The damn milk is going to outlive me.” They laugh a little, just this side of hysterical, and they don’t think about whether they’ll eat the oranges in the drawer in the fridge or if someone will remember to water their plants or if their letters will be found and read and taken seriously.
“Expiration date looming, how do you bear it?” The question is rhetorical, but they still turn their blurry eyes to the side, looking out through a veil of silver hair. Their skirt is getting soaked, but they can’t bring themself to care as they rest their cheek on top of their folded knees.
Silence follows their question. Their reflection only stares back at them with the same distress.
“-and it isn’t like it matters, anymore, so what’s the point? What’s the point?” Lark’s voice trails off into nothingness, and they sniff once before wiping their nose roughly on the sleeve. Their voice sounds rough, but they don’t worry too much about that when they only have themself for company.
“When do I tell them? How? How do you tell a person something like that?” They look down at their hands, then at the same hands trembling in the corner of their eye. They’re shaking, but that’s alright.
Actually, no. No it isn’t. Nothing is alright. They sniff again, breathing shallow as they make a last futile effort to swallow back the tears building behind their eyes. The desk leg digging into their side will surely leave a mark, but they can’t be bothered to move beyond an uncomfortable shift, curling their legs up into their chest.
“Will they miss me?”
Their voice cracks, and they press their hand to their mouth as though that could stop the words from falling out into reality. The thought of being mourned, of being missed, of being gone forever and ever and ever, only increases the tremors. They’ve held out this long, but they’re shaking apart at the seams. Tears stream down their face, warm and damp with the slight tang of salt.
“The damn milk is going to outlive me.” They laugh a little, just this side of hysterical, and they don’t think about whether they’ll eat the oranges in the drawer in the fridge or if someone will remember to water their plants or if their letters will be found and read and taken seriously.
“Expiration date looming, how do you bear it?” The question is rhetorical, but they still turn their blurry eyes to the side, looking out through a veil of silver hair. Their skirt is getting soaked, but they can’t bring themself to care as they rest their cheek on top of their folded knees.
Silence follows their question. Their reflection only stares back at them with the same distress.