Her texting style
Her avatars littered with only free items
The way her character always stared at mine, at me, through the screen, that silly face making a smile creep on my face, no matter what I was feeling in that moment.
Her multi-colored orb that always spawned in when we went to build together.
Her writing
Her drawing
Her praises warming up a part of my soul I never had felt any activity in.
But she’d leave, she had to. One way or another, our paths would split and we’d move on.
Roleplay after Roleplay, chapter after chapter, drawing after drawing, build after build.
Our nights always came to end with a goodbye, a goodbye I hated, but soon came to miss.
“Night night peepaw :3”
His drawings
His writings
His builds
We were the definition of best friends. He’d be my best man at my wedding, and if my wedding failed to come, we’d move in together and start a life together.
His high ego, fake or not.
His laughs, fake or not.
His love, fake or not.
My heart felt restrained, I was confused and scared.
I wanted to be in his arms.
I wanted to cook with him.
I wanted to read with him.
I wanted to watch shows with him.
I wanted to have sleepovers with him.
And maybe, those would have come true if the distance between us wasn’t so far.
I needed him, I wanted him, no matter what my God said, I couldn’t resist it.
August 23rd, 2021, 11:11 PM, He was ripped from me.
He was gone, but was he really?
His laughter, his voice, his messages haunted me, giving me false hope he was back.
The evidence I loved surrounding myself with had stopped, and would never come back.
The evidence that a man had truly loved me for who I was, a task that each father of mine had failed.
The way they talked to me.
The way they laughed with me.
The way they played with me.
The way they played with my heart.
I felt like a bird, and they were my wings.
A bird is useless without its wings.
A bird is sad without its wings.
A bird is scared without its wings.
A bird is weak without its wings.
A bird needed its wings, its social calls, and its warm blood, and they gave me all of them.
I am a finished bird, and as a reward, I’ll take them with me when I fly.
But until that day comes, I’ll remain next to them, holding them close to me, reminding them of how they completed me.
As I lay my head down in my nest, their contributions remain connected to me, never letting me forget their hard work, not like I would.
My eyes closed and as my vision and hearing faded out, their soft voice spoke one last, getting the last word between us, just how they liked it.
“Night night peepaw :3”
Her avatars littered with only free items
The way her character always stared at mine, at me, through the screen, that silly face making a smile creep on my face, no matter what I was feeling in that moment.
Her multi-colored orb that always spawned in when we went to build together.
Her writing
Her drawing
Her praises warming up a part of my soul I never had felt any activity in.
But she’d leave, she had to. One way or another, our paths would split and we’d move on.
Roleplay after Roleplay, chapter after chapter, drawing after drawing, build after build.
Our nights always came to end with a goodbye, a goodbye I hated, but soon came to miss.
“Night night peepaw :3”
His drawings
His writings
His builds
We were the definition of best friends. He’d be my best man at my wedding, and if my wedding failed to come, we’d move in together and start a life together.
His high ego, fake or not.
His laughs, fake or not.
His love, fake or not.
My heart felt restrained, I was confused and scared.
I wanted to be in his arms.
I wanted to cook with him.
I wanted to read with him.
I wanted to watch shows with him.
I wanted to have sleepovers with him.
And maybe, those would have come true if the distance between us wasn’t so far.
I needed him, I wanted him, no matter what my God said, I couldn’t resist it.
August 23rd, 2021, 11:11 PM, He was ripped from me.
He was gone, but was he really?
His laughter, his voice, his messages haunted me, giving me false hope he was back.
The evidence I loved surrounding myself with had stopped, and would never come back.
The evidence that a man had truly loved me for who I was, a task that each father of mine had failed.
The way they talked to me.
The way they laughed with me.
The way they played with me.
The way they played with my heart.
I felt like a bird, and they were my wings.
A bird is useless without its wings.
A bird is sad without its wings.
A bird is scared without its wings.
A bird is weak without its wings.
A bird needed its wings, its social calls, and its warm blood, and they gave me all of them.
I am a finished bird, and as a reward, I’ll take them with me when I fly.
But until that day comes, I’ll remain next to them, holding them close to me, reminding them of how they completed me.
As I lay my head down in my nest, their contributions remain connected to me, never letting me forget their hard work, not like I would.
My eyes closed and as my vision and hearing faded out, their soft voice spoke one last, getting the last word between us, just how they liked it.
“Night night peepaw :3”
They're withering, but I can't stop watering them.
They tell me to stop, to leave and find another flower, one just like them.
But I don't want to.
I can't.
So frail, withered, just one wrong touch and they crumble, but even something so broken has a meaning, a story.
A small sprout that was left to fend for itself, all alone in their flower pot, their soil dry unless the angels above shed tears for them.
A small sprout that had people wishing for its growth, but never once received a kind touch.
Battered and exhausted, yet so different from the others.
I saw so many different flowers in that field, but seeing them on that window, drained of life, so different from the others.
Dried, monochrome, sad.
I couldn't help but pick it up and take it with me wherever I went.
I didn't know how to take care of them, but I didn't want to leave them.
Even if i can't nurture it back to life, I can stop it from losing more of its petals, and that's okay with me.
Even a withered flower has its beauty and it's showing me theirs.
They tell me to stop, to leave and find another flower, one just like them.
But I don't want to.
I can't.
So frail, withered, just one wrong touch and they crumble, but even something so broken has a meaning, a story.
A small sprout that was left to fend for itself, all alone in their flower pot, their soil dry unless the angels above shed tears for them.
A small sprout that had people wishing for its growth, but never once received a kind touch.
Battered and exhausted, yet so different from the others.
I saw so many different flowers in that field, but seeing them on that window, drained of life, so different from the others.
Dried, monochrome, sad.
I couldn't help but pick it up and take it with me wherever I went.
I didn't know how to take care of them, but I didn't want to leave them.
Even if i can't nurture it back to life, I can stop it from losing more of its petals, and that's okay with me.
Even a withered flower has its beauty and it's showing me theirs.
