Jul. 22nd, 2005

last_adam: (can't sleep)
A flick of the switch, and Adam is blinking against the bright lights of the apartment. Four am. Too late to be awake. Too early to get up. And Adam's just getting in.

The paper's still there on the table, taunting him. If there was almost nothing like the feeling of falling in love for the first time, there was certainly nothing like this feeling.

A cider on the table, a pen in his hand, and Adam ignores both to rub his face. It could be easier. He could just... go back. Or stay here. Maybe his father wouldn't be mad anymore. He knows his mother'd like to see him.

He sighs, and puts pen to paper. Once, twice, just can't get it right. Adam's never been good with words. How to find the words for a feeling he can't even describe to himself?

a smaller pain now is preferable to a much larger pain later

So, he writes. It's short, and it's simple, and he hates it.



And then he sleeps.

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November 2007

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