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#shake my small brain out of my skull and wash it in creek water
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this assignment has one question, with two parts.
SO HOW CAN THE INSTRUCTION BOOKLET BE 17 PAGES LONG???? (standard for my uni!! they're always between 13 - 18 pages long💀)
my uni assignments try to kill me every month and every month i say im gonna drop out and every month i look at the munsons and remind myself why i DONT quit but jesus fucking christ
i cannot
i know i'll do it eventually because i aaaaaaaaalways do
but i'm gonna bitch and whine about it the whole damn time
eyes on the munsons, eri, eyes on the munsons...
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usertimothee · 5 years
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what i am to you (is not real)
author’s note: hi guys!  here’s a little something i wrote after sdcc.  the title of the song comes from the song ‘volcano’ by damien rice.  it’s what i listened to while i wrote this.
i hope you like it!
He kisses her first.
He kisses her first, in an empty field while regrouping from a run.  They’d lost someone - someone who’d lived originally at The Kingdom - and she sees him, at the edge of the meadow, all alone.  She can tell he is upset.  She walks over, talks to him a bit, and then gives him what is intended to be a friendly, parting hug.
Except, when she pulls away, he leans forward and kisses her.
It is wholly unexpected, and she doesn’t know how to react.  She lets it happen.  Her eyes close naturally, and after a few moments, her lips form a small pucker against his.
It’s foreign to her - kissing someone - after so many years of going without.  Her instinct doesn’t kick in.  She doesn’t know where to put her hands, or which way to tilt her head.  So instead, she stands still, her left hand pressed delicately against his shoulder blade a remnant of their hug earlier.
The kiss isn’t a long one.  He moves away, while she stays frozen in place.  She peers at him with widened eyes, watches him as he stares at the ground while his chest heaves with deep, quick breaths, curious as to how he feels.
She doesn’t know how she feels.
He looks up at her, from under his eyelashes, and she wonders if he’s trying to look enticing.  Desirable.  To her, he just looks like Ezekiel.  An Ezekiel that opens his mouth and awkwardly closes it again, then pauses a moment before turning and walking away.
She watches him leave, and touches her lips.
***
She decides kissing him isn’t bad.
It happens a few more times in the following weeks.  He starts visiting Alexandria more often, and every time he does, he finds her - in dark corners, behind fences and houses, always the opposite of the bright field he chose the first time - and kisses her first.  They last longer, and she becomes more responsive in kind.  Sometimes, she grabs his bicep, or wraps her arms around his waist.
And she decides kissing him isn’t bad.  It isn’t a revelation, or particularly thrilling, but it sort of gnaws away at the loneliness that tugs at her sometimes, when the kids are asleep and she’s in bed.  When all she can hear is the creaks and moans of the house settling, as she lies enveloped in cold and empty bedsheets, surrounded by darkness.  When her heart aches for company of any kind.
And she thinks that maybe, this is what she needs.  Something not good, but not bad either.  Just something different.  Something hollow and safe.
Something she doesn’t have to be afraid of losing.
***
The problem, though, is that she can’t turn off her brain.
Her heart may be silent, but her brain just won’t shut up.  It’s always turning, spinning, thinking.  Always whispering in her ear.
This isn’t the same.
That’s what’s good about it, she whispers back.  That’s why I need it.
But on and on it goes.  Rolling around in her skull.  Making comparisons that aren’t fair.
His lips aren’t as soft, his hands are larger and not as rough, his tongue isn’t as diligent, his voice is different, his nose is different, his eyes are different, his hair is different, he’s different, he’s different, he’s different.
I know that, she insists.  I know that.
Then what are you doing?
***
Her heart speaks up, finally.
He invites himself over to her house for dinner, tells her to send the kids to Aaron’s for the evening.  He’s trying to date her, in a way, she thinks.  She complies, because she doesn’t know what else to do.
She roasts a chicken, he brings cobbler from The Kingdom and a bottle of wine.  They eat, make small talk, pour drinks and move into the living room to sit on the couch.
She sets her wine on the coffee table.  He says something that makes her laugh.  And then, it happens.  He kisses her, first.
Initially, it’s like all the other ones.  A little longer, perhaps.  A bit deeper.
Then, it changes.
Then, he places both of his hands on her hips, and pulls her closer.  He works his tongue until it’s firmly in her mouth, lets out the faintest moan.  His hands begin to slip under the bottom of her shirt.
Her heart screams.
His fingertips against her bare skin is a shock to her entire system, and she jumps back from Ezekiel abruptly, making the springs in the cushions of the couch squeak and bounce.  Their lips part with a loud smack.  She stands up, takes three steps backwards.
He stares after her with alarmed eyes.
“Michonne?”
“I don’t want this,” she tells him, repeating the words that are suddenly beating over and over in her heart, as if they’d been there the whole time and she’d been ignoring them.
Maybe she had been.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“This,” she emphasizes, using her finger to motion between the two of them.  “I don’t want this.”
He’s quiet, and she watches understanding wash over him slowly.  His shoulders slump, and the light burns out in his eyes.  He looks decidedly rejected.
She’s overcome by a wave of sadness - for him, for them, for the entire situation - and she wishes she had realized sooner.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“I thought...” he begins, a frown turning down his lips.
“I thought -” he begins again, then stops.
“I know,” she says.  “I know.  It’s my fault.  I should’ve told you sooner.  I wish I had known.”
“It’s not your fault,” he mutters, after a moment’s silence.  He leans back into the cushions, rests his arms along the back of the couch.
She doesn’t know what to say, so she stands there, feeling helpless.  He seems deep in thought.  She’s about to ask him what’s going through his head, when he speaks.
“We were both lonely.  I thought that maybe we could...be beneficial to each other’s plight.”
He shakes his head, looks up at the ceiling and smiles at nothing.
“I even had the crazy idea that maybe - someday - we could be something more.”
Again, she doesn’t know what to say.  That thought had never even crossed her mind.  Not even for a second.
It’s not like that for her, anymore.  It’s impossible.
“I guess things aren’t that easy, are they?” he says, looking over at her with a dejected smirk.
“No,” she agrees.  “They’re not.”
He gets up not long after that, and she escorts him to the door.  He gives her a hug and presses his lips to her forehead.  He tells her that he wishes her nothing but happiness, and she wishes the same to him.  With one more sad smile, he walks out into the night.
She watches him leave, and touches her lips.
***
She goes to visit Rick the next day.
She arrives at the bridge and ties up her horse, finds a spot on the shore of the creek, and sits.  For awhile, she simply closes her eyes and rests, listens to the water as it flows over rocks and dirt.
“I’m never going to get over you,” she murmurs.
Then, she smiles.
“And you know what?  I’m okay with that.  I’m okay with the fact that I’m never going to get over you.  I know that you would want me to be happy.  And I know that it would be okay to move on with someone else.”
She shrugs, and laughs once.
“But I don’t want to.  I don’t want to move on.  You’re my person.  I found you.  In all of this bullshit, I found you, and I want to hold on to that.  Some people never find the love of their lives, but I did.  I did, and I’m not going to ever move on from that.  Even though you’re not here, I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me.”
She opens her eyes, and looks out over the water as it shines in the sunlight.
“You make me happy.  Even now - even though you’re not here with me - you still make me happy.  At least, as happy as I can be without you.  And no person is going to make me happier than you can.  Than the memory of you can.  Just knowing that I had you is enough.  For the rest of my life.”
She closes her eyes, wraps her arms around herself - around his denim shirt, which she wears almost constantly.
“You’re enough,” she whispers.  “You’ll always be enough.”
And again, she smiles.
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