Bookitty

  It's done. You're done.The sealed envelope. Firmly pressed lips. Unchanging brutal reality. Depleted energy levels. A half-hearted search for the memory of hope. And that's it. (Book ref#1)   You tell yourself you need a moment. The moment turns into a day.You shut your windows, lock the door and turn the lights off. You crawl under the covers and will time itself to stop. (This is me pretending that I'm a diversified person who listens to all types of songs.)   The world catches up with the best of us. It happens. And it happens all the time.   If death were music it would be your heartbeat .Fading when you're occupied and hammering against your skull when you least want it to. But always there. .   If depression were a dance it would be your breath. Overlooked and underestimated. Shallow and small. Escaping but not leaving. Never leaving. But always there.   If souls were visions they would be smiles. Bleeding and broken and thoroug

  There are people whom we remember by their faces. The piercing gaze of one or the knowing smile of another forever etched into the planes of our memory.   Then there are other factors. Honeyed voices. Lacquered tongues. Broken promises. Shattered hearts. (When you're a low-key Loki supporter in a world drooling over Thor.)   Sometimes however our recollection of someone is based on neither of these. Sometimes when we remember someone , we remember the way that the world shifted in their presence.   Mouths snapping shut as crescendos resolved to hushed whispers. Smiles discarded off faces as they encountered the impending doom of his presence. Spines straightening and postures solidifying.   You can't deny this. There's some part of you that is impressed by the way that the world gravitates towards him. You yearn for that level of authority. To be unaccountable to everyone. An emotion tugs at your heart whenever your eyes cross. A searing red for this feel