my fiancé is finally getting into star wars after almost three decades on this earth and i’m trying to be normal about it but this is literally who he’s talking to
Do you guys remember a couple of years ago when every viral video was like “we tried the $25k gold dusted burger” “we drank a $150 milkshake!”. You dont see a lot of those anymore
Tonight a friend I had not seen in five years said my name in a bar and it felt like finding a winter coat in the back of a closet with a note still in the pocket. We sat under a bent neon sign and watched the ice lose its edges. At 19:06 the first glass kissed the table. At 20:17 some old song arrived that neither of us could place but both of us knew in the mouth.
She remembered things about me I had forgotten. Not the headline things. The small screws. She said you used to hum when you looked for your keys. You hated wet socks more than rain. You kept bandages in your wallet because you blister fast. You had a chipped blue mug that tasted like Saturday. You talked to dogs like they were owed context. You always left a light on in the hallway and called it kindness to your future self.
She remembered a poem I wrote on a receipt and left under a sugar jar. The word river was misspelled and I told everyone it was on purpose. She remembered the scar on my index finger from opening a jar with a butter knife and saying watch this. She remembered the winter I learned to make soup and fed people who did not ask. She remembered I once said I would study sign language and then never did. The way she said it did not accuse me. It opened a drawer.
I had updated myself without saving the older file. She carried a copy. When she read from it, the room tilted in a good way. I watched the older me walk through the door and sit at our table. He wore the same coat but his shoulders were not as high. He laughed from farther back in the throat. He wanted different things. He wanted fewer exits. I did not hate him. I wanted to pour him water.
We told the five-year version of our days. I said the job, the move, the quiet. She said the loss with a straight face and I reached for the napkin like it could help. We did not perform. There is a mercy in speaking to someone who remembers your unflattering angles and still orders another round. The bartender wiped a circle on the counter and the circle kept shining even when the rag moved on. We made a small bright place and stayed inside it.
There were details I wish she had not kept. The way I used to rehearse apologies before anything went wrong. The year I called exhaustion discipline. The month I mistook silence for wisdom and hurt someone with it. She said it gently and it still met the bone. Memory does not file under good and bad. It files under true. My chest went quiet in that heavy way truth has. The kind that makes you sit up straighter so you can breathe under it.
I asked what I had remembered wrong about her. She laughed and said almost everything. We traded old versions across the table like baseball cards. This one still cries at commercials. This one knows how to leave a party. This one is learning to keep the plants alive. This one finally throws out the shirts that smell like ghosts. By 21:42 the neon hummed like an insect that never learns and I felt the room turn kind.
On the walk home I checked my pockets and found I was carrying her sentences like receipts I did not want to lose. Your voice was softer then. You were braver than you knew. You were scared and you did not lie about it. I held both truths at once and my hands did not break. The night air tasted like coins and oranges. A bus sighed. Somewhere a television laughed without us.
In the kitchen I washed the bar smell from my wrists and the sink coughed like it does. I put water by the bed for the version of me who wakes early and deserves kindness from this one. I wrote three lines on the back of a takeout menu. Call your mother tomorrow. Learn the alphabet with your hands like you said. Keep the light in the hall. I turned off the big light and left the small one on. It felt like being recognized by a room.
What do you call the relief of being remembered accurately. Not forgiveness. Not fame. Something quieter. A spine that stops guessing. A face that fits again…
I’ve said this before but I am a leo sun, leo moon, and leo rising, I was born in the morning, on a Sunday, and the moon phase was a new moon. so no I do not always set my electronics to dark mode
@RumoursEra people are saying silver springs is about “”hatred”” and that to me is just mind boggling. have we forgotten how to read?🙂 have we forgotten how to listen?🙂
I briefly forgot that matt smith is in fact daemon targaryen and that I had forgiven him for his dance sequence in morbius. this is why there shouldn’t be such huge gaps between seasons