Work Text:
Some say love is like the sun on a summer evening, and others will say it’s the fire in a blizzard. For me, love is like standing in the middle of a rainstorm with no umbrella.
Love is unpredictable and chaotic; it whips around you in a flurry, leaving your head spinning. It soaks you to the bone, and you feel it in the depths of your soul, and it leaves you shivering in its wake.
Love interacts with all of your senses as it cloaks you within its torrential rains–you are blind to all else as it runs in your eyes, and as you stumble in desperation to keep yourself afloat, the world around you is drown out by the thrumming of your blood in your ears and the steady rhythm of pattering heartbeats; the smells around you are clean, new, and welcoming in the way nothing else is.
Love is not easy. Love is not always kind. Love does not relent.
To compare it to such mediocre things as sunshine and warmth is undermining in a way that leaves any good poet feeling bleak.
It’s the hard times that build the best memories.
(Sorry for not waking you up, your mom asked if I wanted to go shopping with her. I didn’t go home yet, though. Even if we’re still upset with each other, I’m not going to be standing at the airport by myself.)
misotheism: you look like you’re about to pass out right there on the spot, dipper.
cryptozoology: I’m hitting that point where I’m just like …
cryptozoology: ‘Holy shit, Wirt’s screenname has gotta be from one of those word-a-day calendars.’
misotheism: pfff.
cryptozoology: But then again it’s like
misotheism: look who’s talking
misotheism: oh.
cryptozoology: Interrupting WIrt. Hah.
cryptozoology: Wirt. WIrt. Wirt. Wirdy bird.
cryptozoology: God, I’m so tired.
misotheism: yes, just drop your face on the keyboard. don’t turn off the webcam. don’t get up off the couch. don’t wake up your sister so you two can actually go lay in bed instead of scattered around your living room. that is most definitely the responsible way to be.
misotheism: … is it weird that for the last fifteen minutes or so, i just kind of keep tabbing back to this window, and kinda watch you sleep?
misotheism: okay, whyyyy did i even send that, of course it’s weird. god. but if i edit the message or delete it, you’ll just ask what it said in the morning, and geeez, i am the worst liar. italic emphasis on worst.
misotheism: wait, i can actually use italics on here now.
misotheism: … because i’m the world’s worst liar, i guess i should just leave some truths, right? stuff we both know already, maybe, but … things that we all like to have re-established.
misotheism: i miss you. i love you. you look really cute when you’re sleeping, even when i’m pretty sure you’re drooling on your keyboard. it’s almost disappointing your mic is broken, because even if your snoring is really annoying when i’m visiting? um. i think i miss that, too.
misotheism: … i hope you’re having a pleasant dream. looks like it.
misotheism: totally gonna stop being creepy now. –since you’ll see this when you wake up … good morning. have a nice day. call me after class, because i miss your voice. wisconsin is way too far from california.
You steal the blankets in your sleep a lot. It reminds me of something my mom used to joke about when she was still with my dad. The colder you are, the warmer your heart. I always asked her what she meant, why would that be the case. And she said that all the heat pools right in your chest, and it would radiate when you smiled.
I always thought it was just her way of telling my dad she didn’t mind the fact his hands were almost always seemingly ten degrees colder than the rest of him, but …
… sometimes, when you smile, I’m certain that she was on the right track after all, and I couldn’t imagine how I ever thought she was wrong in the first place.
–But really, if you’re that cold at night, I’ll make sure to bring my own blanket next time I visit, because while the winter’s warmer over here, it’s still cold.
I still can’t believe we got the house. I still can’t believe we’re going to be moving in together. I still can’t believe that, every morning … I’ll get to wake up next to you. That I’ll get to fall asleep with you every night. It seems so surreal, honestly.
This past year and a half have rushed by like the overflowing river, and we’ve been the willing victims of the pull, riding the bends and twists with nothing but the hope that the inevitable sea will be more forgiving. –I’m not sure we’ve reached that destination just yet, but wherever we’ve been washed up, I think I could handle getting stranded here as long as you’ll be beside me.
Since I’m so incredibly restless right now, I decided to head back to the storage and get some more of my stuff. My mom and Philip are going to be sending the rest to me soon, the stuff I didn’t bring out already. But I still brought more than enough to keep us busy for a while with unpacking, so … go ahead and start breakfast. Make enough for me, I shouldn’t be out that long.
I love you.
Three years is a drop in the bucket; it’s not even enough to create a ripple on the surface. Time stretches ahead of us into the shadows, leaving us a path to follow, and whether we will continue to walk it hand-in-hand, or whether we will come to a fork in the road and go our separate ways has yet to be seen.
Maybe neither of those are right.
Maybe this time next year, one of us will finally succumb to our own self-inflicted disasters, and there will only be one set of footprints … while we carry each other through the hard times.
No one can tell for certain where the future will see us. Well, at least not the far future.
I’m no psychic, but some plane tickets you’ll find on the kitchen table tells me we might be somewhere near West Yorkshire in the next fifteen hours. I figure our trip out to try and see the mermaids didn’t go as planned, so hey. Maybe we can catch those faeries.
I guess there’s nothing wrong with being a little old-fashioned, but I have to admit, it’s only been one day, and I’m almost already feeling kind of lonely. After living with you for two years, it’s weird to wake up to an empty side of the bed. I guess I have a lot of time to work on some things, though. To look into them all a little further. I never knew this was so intricate.
… Is it strange to say that I’m surprised the synagogue is such a welcoming place? Hm.
Either way, your ufruf(?) the other day was beautiful. I still don’t really get why Mabel had to throw candy at us, but. Anyway, I think I need to get you to read to me in Hebrew more often. I don’t know how any of these are pronounced, but I’m looking over the chart, and I’m amazed you can read this so easily.
Ah … I keep getting swept up in thinking about that, and I’m forgetting the important things. So, for the last time, allow me to pen my name the way that I have for years, because while I feel that I will not miss it much, it only seems proper to bid it a fair adieu.
Love now and always,
Walter Wirt Briggs
Here is to the future of Leslie and Walter Pines.