A little late, but happy earth day! Have some rainy birds.
(A futile, halfhearted attempt at developing Miri’s character.)
1. Few things tether her to this place. There are only meaningless familial obligations and the thought of leaving an empty room behind. Maybe somebody will ask her family where she is one day, a brief and uninvested attempt at small talk. She knows her mother will simply laugh and make a charming excuse, inwardly relieved that her daughter is gone.
2. She is not afraid of death. On the contrary, she has always been comforted by the inevitability of it. Whether people form close ties with others or not, they will all meet the same end, the same final separation. As vague as the concept is, it has always made her feel better for being alone.
Now there are too many bodies around her. Twitching in the middle of sleep, scratching their legs, chewing too loudly, laughing uproariously. She doesn’t speak much to the others, but there seems to exist an unspoken agreement: Where we go, you follow. Where you go, we go too.
A part of her is afraid of their absence. When she prays over the dead after each battle, she has to suppress the part of her that succumbs to relief. For now, the corpses are all unfamiliar, nameless. At night, when the campfire has died to a dull glow and the others lie prone and unmoving under the stars, she finds herself wondering if she can welcome separation after all.
3. They move from place to place, and soon the names of people they meet and the towns they pass through all begin to blend together and lose meaning. This is the kind of life she signed up for. Up until now, she has always viewed herself as a perpetual visitor, tied to nothing but the motley little band she follows into haphazard bloodshed. She tells herself she hasn’t minded any of it yet: detachment is a habit of hers, and it is a difficult one to break.
Yet they have stayed at this place for a month, an unprecedented attempt at stability. Now her sheets are crumpled, soft, and familiar. She eats the same meal for breakfast each morning—substandard fare for a castle, but reassuringly consistent all the same. She has memorized the hallways so that she can wander them at night, quietly disentangling bad dreams from reality. And she has learned how to separate one voice in particular from all the others, learned how beautiful her own name can sound when coming from the mouth of someone incendiary.
But this is her last night here. The other side of the bed is still sweet with the warmth of a body that is not hers, a body now gone to rest elsewhere in the castle. Their separation is more than simply physical—this she knows, this she already knew, and yet she allows herself to feel loss. It is an emotion far too imbued with life to ignore.
She still cannot bring herself to fathom this particular goodbye completely. But in the morning, as she always does, she leaves without looking back.
i wanna put on a cute dress and slay all my enemies
i love the way how this gets notes slowly. it’s like everyone puts on a cute dress an slays all their enemies and then comes back and reblogs the postIt has been done. I can reblog now.
Extinguish my eyes, I’ll go on seeing you.
Seal my ears, I’ll go on hearing you.
And without feet I can make my way to you,
without a mouth I can swear your name.
Break off my arms, I’ll take hold of you
with my heart as with a hand.
Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.
And if you consume my brain with fire,
I’ll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.
My immense love for my extracurriculars and friends is coming at a very steep academic and physical toll. I can’t even write coherent papers. (Or write anything. I’ve devolved substantially.)
Anyways, I need to get my act together before my GPA gives me an aneurysm. For all my attempts to stop caring so much about academic success, some things never change.
In the midst of studying for my Oceanography exam, I was suddenly struck by how easily random people can pick me up. I kind of like it when friends cart me about flippantly, but it is extremely unsettling to realize that drunk acquaintances are also perfectly capable of slinging me over their shoulders (something that has actually happened before).
In conclusion: I should be learning some form of martial arts, not studying the characteristics of depositional shorelines.
(But my desire to get a stellar GPA has returned with a vengeance, so I’m just kidding.)
Favorite selfies to date. I aspire to emulate Jenny’s command of red lipstick. (In the meantime, I’m practicing my bitchface for Frosh Revue.)
There are some… really amazing people here at Williams. I don’t know if I can say that I feel part of the college at large, but between my colorful cult family, a beautiful writing club, an avant-garde theater collective, a D&D group, and some really badass socially-conscious pockets of student activism, I can maybe say that I’ve found several cozy niches. It’s a foreign, but very good, feeling. (And, as per usual, I will cling desperately to these social ties that justify My Place In The World until people get sick of me.)