Martin Whitly (
not_as_i_do) wrote in
tramitem_net2020-07-10 05:15 pm
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Text - OTA
Sometimes I'll be in the middle of a day of work and forget all of this. You have to be able to ... to put it away somewhere, just to focus on what needs doing.
But then some strange little random thing will remind me, and it all comes crashing back. Today, it was a young man's eyes, on the subway home. They were so blue, and I thought, 'my son has eyes like that'. But I don't have a son. Not here. But I do in the memories.
I know I should probably save these things for group, but ... somehow it's easier putting them here in writing. I feel like ... it should still all be secret. Like I should be used to keeping secrets.
I've never been secretive in my life.
Does anyone else have moments like this?
But then some strange little random thing will remind me, and it all comes crashing back. Today, it was a young man's eyes, on the subway home. They were so blue, and I thought, 'my son has eyes like that'. But I don't have a son. Not here. But I do in the memories.
I know I should probably save these things for group, but ... somehow it's easier putting them here in writing. I feel like ... it should still all be secret. Like I should be used to keeping secrets.
I've never been secretive in my life.
Does anyone else have moments like this?
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They did have some very interesting things. I may pick something up for my niece's next birthday - I have a feeling she'd love one or two of those scarves to accent her professional outfits, once she gets to the point of needing to interview for things. Also: you really can't beat that barter system of theirs. A case of cheap water from Sam's Club and a rolling suitcase, and you're in the money over there.
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CW: violence
[he hits send on the text without realizing it, as the memory slams into him like the armored truck in metaphorical question. standing in the middle of a sea of chaos and violence, people shouting, screaming. bones breaking, flesh hitting flesh. but he's utterly calm in his orange jumpsuit: happy, even, as he holds a cell phone up to one ear. "Malcolm! How are you, my boy? I took Ainsley's advice... She did?!" There's a pause. A knot in his throat. Behind him, someone is unconscious on the concrete floor. Guards with billy clubs are arriving. Yet his voice swells with pride, oblivious. "My girl..."]
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Yeah, it concerned me a little. Speaking of concerning, you okay over there?
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Memory just hit. New one.
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