[ You hear the sound of vehicles in the distance, of people walking, a society bustling with its every day affairs. You hear children laughing much closer by, but the shadows keep you from being able to identify the surroundings.
A single ball bounces into existence and rolls into view almost ominously. A child follows, calling back to their friends they found the ball before stepping forward into the mouth of the alleyway to retrieve it as it rolls into the darker parts of an already dark alley. It feels like the part of a movie where tragedy will happen, where you instantly feel different by what your mind conjures as the fate of the child. Before they can follow through and enter into the shadows, too, though, the ball comes partially rolling back out as if having knocked into something (perhaps it has been rolled back.)
There is no sound of footsteps as the cloaked figure steps forward out the shadows. The child steps back in curious awe, staring up at them even as they come to crouch down to pick up the escaping ball. With it in their possession, they offer it out to the child as if offering a truce. There is a silent form of communication between the two individuals as the child stares at the one offering the ball.
The trade is clear in their silent exchange. Your ball is here, there no need to travel further.
The child finally smiles gratefully, reaching to take the ball a bit before giggling a thanks and a goodbye as they slip away. a name being called that is unregisterable but clearly from the mouths of their friends becokoning for them to not dally. It's time for them to come back and continue to enjoy playing, that they can't wait around forever. So hurry and bring the ball back and leave what looks like in this alleyway behind him.
The cloaked figure rises to their feet as the child safely wanders away. There's nothing to see here, nothing to worry about. The nightmare that everyone held their breath for never comes; it never existed to begin with.
Once they are long gone, after several almost agonizing seconds of stillness where the figure doesn't move a muscle, they finally lift a hand to their face. Their actions momentarily force the hood to push back far enough that those familiar with Sam will immediately recognize the blue eyes if nothing else. Lackluster blue depths, a place where emotions go to drown themselves and never resurface. If someone is particularly observant, they may notice the filth that "Sam" wipes from his face. They might notice that he's young, younger than he is in the present despite not really looking that much different— this description feels correct even though logically they don't make much sense in objective description. Perhaps part of the weirdness is that being young and then even younger makes it all that much more (disastrous, depressing, despairing, disappointing, disengaging, dull, disinteresting) in the grand scheme of the vision.
"Sam" turns around now, his hood shifting from his movements again but not quite enough to push it off. If it were a movie, it would be most likely a director's decision so that one could see the character's face well enough while not forgoing the atmosphere of being cover and concealed. He returns into the shadows, and the light adjusts as if the camera does the same.
It is a macabre and unsettling sight. His boots splash into water muddied by blood, the alley floor littered with bodies and parts of bodies. Blood is still fresh, it still runs—a particularly gruesome example of a hunched over body on stacked creates dripping blood into the alleyway cobblestone from areas like the blood accumulating upon the tips of their lifeless fingers as it runs rivers over them. "Sam" does not look, does not flinch, walking through the carnage as if that's all he's ever known. There's neither malice nor satisfaction in his body language, neither disgust nor delight. This scene stirs nothing inside of this man, even though one can't but realize the inconsistency mentally: if they are so far gone from a normal reality that this does not register to them, why would they take the time to deliberately halt their work to ensure a child received their ball without ever setting foot into the shadows? If they can not care for these lives or the heinous scene, how can they gather the consciousness to actively wish to avoid the child stumbling upon their deeds?
The feeling that it isn't to protect themselves from the judgement of the child but to protect the child from the horrors strewn about resonates within the viewers despite nothing factual to lead them to such a conclusion. "Sam" brandishes his blade into sight as he makes his way further through the alley, picking up place and the silhouettes of men up ahead turn with noticing his approach. They don't speak to him but they speak about him—
"The Lord Harbinger's debt collector—"
"They were supposed to kill him! How hard is to take out one Fatui scumbag—! Where are the other men that were supposed to take care of him?"
isn't it enough that he prints his life isn't this already? isn't it enough that he hides the blood on his hands that he can never get off (because he knows, he's tried so hard, but he can always see it see it now matter how things he's washes his hands, how many times he Barnes, how land times he tires to burn the be skin right off to get rid of the stains—!)?
why isn't it enough?
Is it just cruelty mocking him, fate telling him that whether or not this is truly is another life of his, that even the Showmaster—with such a flair for unusual and interesting stories—could not conjure anything better or different for someone like him? is this supposed to tell him that there was never any hope for him to change, that no matter what he was handed in life, he would always go down the same path one way or another?
Sam wretches despite his best efforts to avoid doing so. Nothing comes up, but the muscles in his chest tighten along with his stomach and then don't relax, refusing to let him do anything beyond dry heave from the vision. he can smell it (the blood), he can feel it (the tinge of agitation at his—no, not his, please that's not him—subordinate's oversight,) and he can't help but panic further, wondering just what he (not him, it's not him) really was doing all that time in Liyue while playing a front of formalities for people like the man that looks so much like Jun. (What am I doing there, am I going to hurt him—? Of course I'm going to try and hurt him, of course the story will always unfold the way I wish it wouldn't just like every day unfold the same way!)
For something so rooted in apathy, in an acceptance of understanding of what the die has cast, it boils all of Sam's current troubles and doubts into an upheaval the results in physical rejection even if he can't quite do the same for his mental health like his body attempts for his physical. He gags and coughs, shuddering as he leans against the railing of the ship deck but simultaneously curls inward into himself as if he can protect himself from his own harsh judgement. He makes a disgusted keening noise barely audible despite it feeling so loud to his own ears, it mixing perfectly in reflection of all his frustrations and pent up emotional stress.
(I hate this. I hate this place. I hate you. I hate myself. I hate everyone. I hate everything.)
I hate this apathy that says there will never be anything else to my life because even in another, the underlying story is not different.
(a liar. a faker. an imposter. a fraud. a nobody. a nothing.)
It's silly isn't it, to reacts so strongly to nothing at all. He can hear his own subconscious mocking him, can hear his own parents, his siblings, what friends he thought he had and still has telling him to stop, to grow up, that this is nothing, it's not a big deal, he's overreacting, this isn't anything, there isn't anything at all—
(As long as I can hate, it's still better than not caring at all— isn't it?) ]
[ When Sam had invited Jun over to watch a vision with him (especially a vision won from that performance), he wasn't quite sure to expect. All Jun knew of Sam's other self was that he was a foreign diplomat, charismatic if a bit distractable at his job and that he had found himself on the wrong end of the law in a country that Jun's other did not reside in.
He supposes he should be surprised at the blood reveal, but he is so unsurprised that the other Sam would distract a child away from the scene of the crime, that rings as an afterthought more than anything else.
Still murder is murder, and the surrounding architecture and furnishings show without a doubt that other!Sam is murdering in other!Zhongli's city of residence.
He's not sure how he's supposed to feel about that so he chooses to feel nothing instead placing a hand on Sam's back and patting it gently twice. Whatever the occupation of the person in his visions, Sam still reacted strongly to them and negatively to them. That was all that mattered in this moment. ]
[ Sam flinches but doesn't pull away (why does he flinch, though? Shouldn't he feel powerful? Untouchable? Shouldn't he feel that clearly no one and nothing can touch him from that vision because Death can't go after itself, afterall—)
He blinks suddenly, realizing tears are stinging his eyes and yes he understands why he's flinching away now— this is a side of him Sam never wanted Jun or anyone else aware of. Even if it's his other self, it's still the same. This is the type of person he is. He doesn't kill quite to the level his other self clearly must to be so flippant and casual in his methods, but it doesn't matter. Murder is still murder. And although every time Sam tells himself it's justified or otherwise deserved, the way he knee-jerk reacts to this all tells him he's never convinced himself of it.
(And in the back of his mind, where this has settled and fused itself to the other memories of this person he follows the chronicles of, he hears them laugh, as if flabbergasted:
Oh, you can't hide from it forever. What's your name, again? Sam, right? Do you remember mine, yet? Do you remember what you really are? It doesn't look like it, but does that matter? You already know exactly what you are, it seems.
Sam breathes in deeply, sharply— but is probably not very good about taking his time. His breath catches and stutters similar to the contracting of his muscles in his diaphragm. He tries again, but the frustration that wells up in him makes it worse— he's panicking. ]
—I'm okay.
[ he's not, and that upsets him even more. There had been so much else than this to see, so much else to experience on this boat and yet yet...
At least he didn't hurt the child. At least ...
(but that thought, too, seems to agitate the voice that's been slowly coagulating into a solid form memory after memory, enough that he feels the sharp edge cut like a knife in his psyche: Don't act surprised like you didn't already know monsters can't have their own codes of conduct to follow when you have yours.) ]
[ Jun takes in that ragged breathing, the wetness in his eyes that pride or stubbornness prevent from falling, and the thoughts that he cannot hear but cannot be described as anything other than loud. While their friendship (both this one and the one prior to Sam's memory loss) had been comfortable, it also had been one that did not carve too deep into each other's pasts. So Jun cannot imagine what demons haunt Sam in the waking hours to cause such a reaction. Far more than just the horrors which appear in the visions. ]
You are not okay.
[ He tugs Sam down to put his head in Jun's lap, a position that settled him enough before to get some rest when the nightmares would not die down. ]
But that is alright. You do not have to be right now.
[ Sam doesn't pull away, but his jaw clenches even as he buries his face against the other's thigh. It's not... helping. Why is it not helping. Jun will feel the wetness that starts to seep into the fabric of his pants where Sam has his face pressed.
This absolutely... ugh. He's so frustrated. Frustrated by his inability to control himself, his inability to not let this silly vision affect him (because it's silly, this performance was tame overall, he shouldn't be letting his mind run away with all of this. Even this vision is tame. He's killed too many to be that hung up about it—)
He doesn't understand (he does a little, he does recognize this is partly he's upset over Jun seeing this, but even then he still feels like it doesn't make sense.)
Sad story for you, huh? But what's exactly wrong with our stories being fundamentally the same, anyway? What's wrong with being useful for what we're best at?
You don't really care what it is you're good at so long as you're useful, we both know that. ]
[ Jun does not say anything for the moment. Instead, he just reaches out to card a hand through Sam's hair until it seems he has calmed down a little. Whether that be less wetness seeping into his trousers or Sam's breathing finally evening it out, it does not matter. Nor does it matter how long it takes.
It does not matter because no matter how many visions he watches, Sam will always be Sam to Jun. And whatever the Showmaster is trying to achieve by having him watch these scenes will not get in the way of the friendship that he has forged with him, not once now but twice.
[ His hand pauses mid-comb before it starts up again, this time smoothing it to tame it to its normal state of disarray. ]
You do not have to apologize for there are no right or wrong answers to what you are feeling.
You saw something terrifying in a way that this whole performance is trying to pass off as mundane and everyday. I would be more concerned if you did not have a strong reaction to it.
This just keeps getting worse. I really wanted to believe at least a little good could come out of all this somehow for everyone involved even if we all have to suffer. But that's not the case, at least not for me so far. I want to go home. [ he just wants to go back to living alone and not worrying other people or worrying about other people or trying to make friends or be normal or going out of his way to help others through this shit, anymore. ]
I do not think you are the only one on the ship that feels this way. That they wish this was all a dream— or perhaps better termed a nightmare that they might be able to wake from.
Ah, no...This place isn't asking anything of me, really, is it? It doesn't ask anything of me, that's the problem.
And I can't accept that, Jun. Because between the two of us, you are less equipped for this nightmare than I am. Please be selfish for your own benefit and well-being. If it's between the two of us, I want you safe.
I'm not as equipped to handle this place as you. In fact, I would say that I feel oddly solitary in how poorly I am adjusting to everything. Nor do I believe I have the courage to stay if the Ticketmaster were to offer me a way off of this ship.
[ Jun is silent for a moment before he attempts to grab Sam by the face and tilt his head so they are looking at each other. ]
But that doesn't make that thought of you being forced to stagnate here any less painful.
How does one measure the suffering of a bird with clipped wings, after all.
[ Sam doesn't say anything immediately, just looking up at his friend a bit helplessly. ]
...Jun, don't think like that. The way most people on this boat respond to our circumstances are abnormal. Most of them don't have the experiences or the training to adapt or behave as they do, and at least for me this makes them that much more untrustworthy. There's nothing cowardly or poor about these feelings you have, especially about your own self-preservation. It makes you one of very few people with any sense of genuinity here.
So, I... what I mean is... if that ever happens, don't let those thoughts hurt you that much. Because at least with you back there, home is actually worth trying to get back to again for me. Right now, even if I want to go home to escape these visions, there's nothing and no one for me to go back to.
[ His brows knit for just a moment, some of that helplessness returned. For how could Jun not feel that way regarding Sam. Sam moved through life like a whirlwind, barely stopping to look at his surroundings before heading off on the next adventure.
So perhaps he really didn't see the people in his life. Did not see the crowd of people who were worried about him about during the last performance. And if he did not see that, then what did Sam really see instead? ]
Then if I return home first, I will wait for you. Continue taking shifts at the cafe even if I've passed the bar. Stay in the city as long as I can afford to do so.
So that when you return, you have at least something to return to.
[ he doesn't. Sam sees nothing because seeing nothing is easier than trying to piece together why there are people that care.
he laughs gently now. ] ...Ah, working at the cafe after you pass the bar is cruel and unusual punishment, don't you think? But, thank you... that's very kind of you. If you go home before I do, though, I'll make sure that this time it's me that doesn't stop until I find you again. I don't want you putting a pause on your life. You have a lot to look forward to.
I don't give you a lot of value, just a lot of burden. I'm sure you feel happy on some level I trust you enough to bother you with stuff like this, but it must feel exhausting. Like, when's the last time we hung around and just were happy together? That's what I mean.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
DAY 236; apathy memory
[ You hear the sound of vehicles in the distance, of people walking, a society bustling with its every day affairs. You hear children laughing much closer by, but the shadows keep you from being able to identify the surroundings.
A single ball bounces into existence and rolls into view almost ominously. A child follows, calling back to their friends they found the ball before stepping forward into the mouth of the alleyway to retrieve it as it rolls into the darker parts of an already dark alley. It feels like the part of a movie where tragedy will happen, where you instantly feel different by what your mind conjures as the fate of the child. Before they can follow through and enter into the shadows, too, though, the ball comes partially rolling back out as if having knocked into something (perhaps it has been rolled back.)
There is no sound of footsteps as the cloaked figure steps forward out the shadows. The child steps back in curious awe, staring up at them even as they come to crouch down to pick up the escaping ball. With it in their possession, they offer it out to the child as if offering a truce. There is a silent form of communication between the two individuals as the child stares at the one offering the ball.
The trade is clear in their silent exchange. Your ball is here, there no need to travel further.
The child finally smiles gratefully, reaching to take the ball a bit before giggling a thanks and a goodbye as they slip away. a name being called that is unregisterable but clearly from the mouths of their friends becokoning for them to not dally. It's time for them to come back and continue to enjoy playing, that they can't wait around forever. So hurry and bring the ball back and leave what looks like in this alleyway behind him.
The cloaked figure rises to their feet as the child safely wanders away. There's nothing to see here, nothing to worry about. The nightmare that everyone held their breath for never comes; it never existed to begin with.
Once they are long gone, after several almost agonizing seconds of stillness where the figure doesn't move a muscle, they finally lift a hand to their face.
Their actions momentarily force the hood to push back far enough that those familiar with Sam will immediately recognize the blue eyes if nothing else. Lackluster blue depths, a place where emotions go to drown themselves and never resurface. If someone is particularly observant, they may notice the filth that "Sam" wipes from his face. They might notice that he's young, younger than he is in the present despite not really looking that much different— this description feels correct even though logically they don't make much sense in objective description. Perhaps part of the weirdness is that being young and then even younger makes it all that much more (disastrous, depressing, despairing, disappointing, disengaging, dull, disinteresting) in the grand scheme of the vision.
"Sam" turns around now, his hood shifting from his movements again but not quite enough to push it off. If it were a movie, it would be most likely a director's decision so that one could see the character's face well enough while not forgoing the atmosphere of being cover and concealed. He returns into the shadows, and the light adjusts as if the camera does the same.
It is a macabre and unsettling sight. His boots splash into water muddied by blood, the alley floor littered with bodies and parts of bodies. Blood is still fresh, it still runs—a particularly gruesome example of a hunched over body on stacked creates dripping blood into the alleyway cobblestone from areas like the blood accumulating upon the tips of their lifeless fingers as it runs rivers over them. "Sam" does not look, does not flinch, walking through the carnage as if that's all he's ever known. There's neither malice nor satisfaction in his body language, neither disgust nor delight. This scene stirs nothing inside of this man, even though one can't but realize the inconsistency mentally: if they are so far gone from a normal reality that this does not register to them, why would they take the time to deliberately halt their work to ensure a child received their ball without ever setting foot into the shadows? If they can not care for these lives or the heinous scene, how can they gather the consciousness to actively wish to avoid the child stumbling upon their deeds?
The feeling that it isn't to protect themselves from the judgement of the child but to protect the child from the horrors strewn about resonates within the viewers despite nothing factual to lead them to such a conclusion. "Sam" brandishes his blade into sight as he makes his way further through the alley, picking up place and the silhouettes of men up ahead turn with noticing his approach. They don't speak to him but they speak about him—
"The Lord Harbinger's debt collector—"
"They were supposed to kill him! How hard is to take out one Fatui scumbag—! Where are the other men that were supposed to take care of him?"
"Shut up and run, you idiot, unless you're paying our dues with your own blood!"
[ and the vision continues...
( English dub version. )
... Until it ends back into the shadows. ]
3 uses.
form: teddy bear.
uses left: 2 (01/06/25)
1.) Jun (day 236).
2.) ---
3.) ---
DAY 236; Jun
isn't it enough that he prints his life isn't this already? isn't it enough that he hides the blood on his hands that he can never get off (because he knows, he's tried so hard, but he can always see it see it now matter how things he's washes his hands, how many times he Barnes, how land times he tires to burn the be skin right off to get rid of the stains—!)?
why isn't it enough?
Is it just cruelty mocking him, fate telling him that whether or not this is truly is another life of his, that even the Showmaster—with such a flair for unusual and interesting stories—could not conjure anything better or different for someone like him? is this supposed to tell him that there was never any hope for him to change, that no matter what he was handed in life, he would always go down the same path one way or another?
Sam wretches despite his best efforts to avoid doing so. Nothing comes up, but the muscles in his chest tighten along with his stomach and then don't relax, refusing to let him do anything beyond dry heave from the vision. he can smell it (the blood), he can feel it (the tinge of agitation at his—no, not his, please that's not him—subordinate's oversight,) and he can't help but panic further, wondering just what he (not him, it's not him) really was doing all that time in Liyue while playing a front of formalities for people like the man that looks so much like Jun. (What am I doing there, am I going to hurt him—? Of course I'm going to try and hurt him, of course the story will always unfold the way I wish it wouldn't just like every day unfold the same way!)
For something so rooted in apathy, in an acceptance of understanding of what the die has cast, it boils all of Sam's current troubles and doubts into an upheaval the results in physical rejection even if he can't quite do the same for his mental health like his body attempts for his physical. He gags and coughs, shuddering as he leans against the railing of the ship deck but simultaneously curls inward into himself as if he can protect himself from his own harsh judgement. He makes a disgusted keening noise barely audible despite it feeling so loud to his own ears, it mixing perfectly in reflection of all his frustrations and pent up emotional stress.
(I hate this. I hate this place. I hate you. I hate myself. I hate everyone. I hate everything.)
I hate this apathy that says there will never be anything else to my life because even in another, the underlying story is not different.
(a liar. a faker. an imposter. a fraud. a nobody. a nothing.)
It's silly isn't it, to reacts so strongly to nothing at all. He can hear his own subconscious mocking him, can hear his own parents, his siblings, what friends he thought he had and still has telling him to stop, to grow up, that this is nothing, it's not a big deal, he's overreacting, this isn't anything, there isn't anything at all—
(As long as I can hate, it's still better than not caring at all— isn't it?) ]
... How disgusting.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
He supposes he should be surprised at the blood reveal, but he is so unsurprised that the other Sam would distract a child away from the scene of the crime, that rings as an afterthought more than anything else.
Still murder is murder, and the surrounding architecture and furnishings show without a doubt that other!Sam is murdering in other!Zhongli's city of residence.
He's not sure how he's supposed to feel about that so he chooses to feel nothing instead placing a hand on Sam's back and patting it gently twice. Whatever the occupation of the person in his visions, Sam still reacted strongly to them and negatively to them. That was all that mattered in this moment. ]
Deep breaths now. Take your time.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
He blinks suddenly, realizing tears are stinging his eyes and yes he understands why he's flinching away now— this is a side of him Sam never wanted Jun or anyone else aware of. Even if it's his other self, it's still the same. This is the type of person he is. He doesn't kill quite to the level his other self clearly must to be so flippant and casual in his methods, but it doesn't matter. Murder is still murder. And although every time Sam tells himself it's justified or otherwise deserved, the way he knee-jerk reacts to this all tells him he's never convinced himself of it.
(And in the back of his mind, where this has settled and fused itself to the other memories of this person he follows the chronicles of, he hears them laugh, as if flabbergasted:
Oh, you can't hide from it forever. What's your name, again? Sam, right? Do you remember mine, yet? Do you remember what you really are? It doesn't look like it, but does that matter? You already know exactly what you are, it seems.
Sam breathes in deeply, sharply— but is probably not very good about taking his time. His breath catches and stutters similar to the contracting of his muscles in his diaphragm. He tries again, but the frustration that wells up in him makes it worse— he's panicking. ]
—I'm okay.
[ he's not, and that upsets him even more. There had been so much else than this to see, so much else to experience on this boat and yet yet...
At least he didn't hurt the child. At least ...
(but that thought, too, seems to agitate the voice that's been slowly coagulating into a solid form memory after memory, enough that he feels the sharp edge cut like a knife in his psyche: Don't act surprised like you didn't already know monsters can't have their own codes of conduct to follow when you have yours.) ]
Re: DAY 236; Jun
You are not okay.
[ He tugs Sam down to put his head in Jun's lap, a position that settled him enough before to get some rest when the nightmares would not die down. ]
But that is alright. You do not have to be right now.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
This absolutely... ugh. He's so frustrated. Frustrated by his inability to control himself, his inability to not let this silly vision affect him (because it's silly, this performance was tame overall, he shouldn't be letting his mind run away with all of this. Even this vision is tame. He's killed too many to be that hung up about it—)
He doesn't understand (he does a little, he does recognize this is partly he's upset over Jun seeing this, but even then he still feels like it doesn't make sense.)
Sad story for you, huh? But what's exactly wrong with our stories being fundamentally the same, anyway? What's wrong with being useful for what we're best at?
You don't really care what it is you're good at so long as you're useful, we both know that. ]
Re: DAY 236; Jun
It does not matter because no matter how many visions he watches, Sam will always be Sam to Jun. And whatever the Showmaster is trying to achieve by having him watch these scenes will not get in the way of the friendship that he has forged with him, not once now but twice.
The Sam he knows does not kill like that. ]
Re: DAY 236; Jun
...Sorry. I probably overreacted.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
You do not have to apologize for there are no right or wrong answers to what you are feeling.
You saw something terrifying in a way that this whole performance is trying to pass off as mundane and everyday. I would be more concerned if you did not have a strong reaction to it.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
This just keeps getting worse. I really wanted to believe at least a little good could come out of all this somehow for everyone involved even if we all have to suffer. But that's not the case, at least not for me so far. I want to go home. [ he just wants to go back to living alone and not worrying other people or worrying about other people or trying to make friends or be normal or going out of his way to help others through this shit, anymore. ]
That is really selfish of me, but ...
Re: DAY 236; Jun
I do not think you are the only one on the ship that feels this way. That they wish this was all a dream— or perhaps better termed a nightmare that they might be able to wake from.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
Re: DAY 236; Jun
Anyone who cares for you would not wish this fate upon you.
Might I ask that you extend that same care and devotion for yourself?
Re: DAY 236; Jun
Re: DAY 236; Jun
Is it unfair to ask one more thing of you when this place already asks so much?
What if I wished for you to go home, and therefore took that bit of selfish burden upon myself.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
And I can't accept that, Jun. Because between the two of us, you are less equipped for this nightmare than I am. Please be selfish for your own benefit and well-being. If it's between the two of us, I want you safe.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
I'm not as equipped to handle this place as you. In fact, I would say that I feel oddly solitary in how poorly I am adjusting to everything. Nor do I believe I have the courage to stay if the Ticketmaster were to offer me a way off of this ship.
[ Jun is silent for a moment before he attempts to grab Sam by the face and tilt his head so they are looking at each other. ]
But that doesn't make that thought of you being forced to stagnate here any less painful.
How does one measure the suffering of a bird with clipped wings, after all.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
...Jun, don't think like that. The way most people on this boat respond to our circumstances are abnormal. Most of them don't have the experiences or the training to adapt or behave as they do, and at least for me this makes them that much more untrustworthy. There's nothing cowardly or poor about these feelings you have, especially about your own self-preservation. It makes you one of very few people with any sense of genuinity here.
So, I... what I mean is... if that ever happens, don't let those thoughts hurt you that much. Because at least with you back there, home is actually worth trying to get back to again for me. Right now, even if I want to go home to escape these visions, there's nothing and no one for me to go back to.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
So perhaps he really didn't see the people in his life. Did not see the crowd of people who were worried about him about during the last performance. And if he did not see that, then what did Sam really see instead? ]
Then if I return home first, I will wait for you. Continue taking shifts at the cafe even if I've passed the bar. Stay in the city as long as I can afford to do so.
So that when you return, you have at least something to return to.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
he laughs gently now. ] ...Ah, working at the cafe after you pass the bar is cruel and unusual punishment, don't you think? But, thank you... that's very kind of you. If you go home before I do, though, I'll make sure that this time it's me that doesn't stop until I find you again. I don't want you putting a pause on your life. You have a lot to look forward to.
Re: DAY 236; Jun
What do you think of our friendship?
Re: DAY 236; Jun
Re: DAY 236; Jun
Re: DAY 236; Jun
Re: DAY 236; Jun
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