ts lyrics - the silence that only comes when two people understand each other <3
part two (part one???? what are timelines again?) of this (could also be associated with this story, the snippets are indeed turning into a mirrorball love letter)
"the silence that only comes when two people understand each other"
- peace, Taylor Swift
"And the moon's never seen me before
But I'm reflecting light..."
- Reflecting Light, Sam Phillips
"He can see his arm stretching out, moving without his permission, reaching for the world outside of him like a tree branch reaches for the sky above."
- a snippet from the book he will never write
There is something tragically beautiful about the angle in which the sun is dancing on her skin. He closes his eyes for a lifetime resembling second, but they are still burning, which makes him open them again. He catches a glimpse of his purple sketchbook, that old Nirvana record his dad gave him when he was fourteen and finally, the Robert Herrick poetry book he gave her last September. Last September, when the trees still looked like trees and his life felt like a collection of freshly taken photographs rather than a book that's been read for far too many times. This is his life. Its crucial insignificance resting against his front door. The crucial insignificance of his life and her. Her and the beautiful tragedy of it all.
She's standing there, long fancy dress, mismatched shoes (which is almost surprising), sparkly blazer, a blazer than doesn't quite fit her visually, but compliments her perfectly when you are on friendly terms with memories and unwritten letters and the rationality of madness. It would have been much easier for him to remember her in a way that the poet remembers his muse, with flowers in her hair, sunlight hugging her everlasting presence, a beautiful echo of the past that never existed outside of its paper kingdom. He doesn't remember her like that. He remembers her in the same way that she, now hauntingly, was.
There is this window in his room. It's a decent window, a human creation that is nice and good, unlike many others. And this window was his friend for what appeared to be centuries (in his mind at least, then) and he would get so close to it at times, one might believe he was trying to accomplish something dreadful. But the thing is, he was only trying to get closer to whatever was outside. He was sad, but was he actually sad if he didn't label what he was feeling as sad? It's like a bad joke system. You think the joke is funny and hilarious and you think everyone is going to laugh, but then you say it out loud and it's all wrong and not there.
He doesn't know what's on her mind, he doesn't know why she's here when she's supposed to be gone, gone with her life, life that was happening, and his photographs and drawings of rose petals and all these things he was supposed to pretend he had forgotten.
"The sun likes your face." he says, which is like the ultimate "you're my favourite person" decleration in his head and she knows this because her hand immediately reaches for her shoulder where it finds its solace for a few seconds that happen in slow motion. But not like "this is important, pay attention to this, this is a grandiose moment" movie kind of slow motion. It's more about the incredible irrelevance of the gesture. It's that detail you notice on the twenty first rewatch of your favourite movie because that's when you get desperate and crave something more.
He realizes how his eyes are watery when they're already watery enough to cause his cheeks to change colour. His sunglasses are on his head, not on his eyes and he has an excuse to put them down because there's a window in the hallway of the building. He doesn't put them down.
She is saying something, but somebody completely cut off the sound wires in his brain because he cannot hear her even though he can assume what she's saying. He remembers microscopes and how they only focus on one object at the time. He remembers how, an optical microscope, specifically, mastered the art of dancing with light. He is focusing on one thing at the time right now too. She takes a step closer, to him.
For the first time in a capsule full of whenevers, somebody is reaching out for something, somebody, him, too.
"I think it's the sunlight that finds comfort in our features, not the other way around. The bigger our smiles, the brighter our days."
- a snippet from the book that writes itself; each existing day, an equivalent of a book page; each present breath, an equivalent of a word
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