( voicetesting ) open post

[loveconquers]

"Life, with its rules, its obligations,
and its freedoms, is like a sonnet:
You're given the form, but you have to write
the sonnet yourself."

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it's not letting me log into alex's account because i wrote the wrong pw too many times....

[verumdicit]

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I'm using all three because I do what I want

[loveconquers]

[ There was a power behind rewards and recognition of efforts in a child's upbringing. She'd been rewarded with the bedroom in the attic through her efforts and requests as the oldest. And as it goes in life, there are consequences for poor choices. She'd spent the last few months of the semester getting her grades back on track, working to actively quell the whispers around her and focus on her own strengths rather than getting lost in her faults. She'd learned the dangers of that train of thought and all she could now was adjust her path accordingly.

For a fourteen year old, it's easier said than done.

Especially late at night, when those thoughts would creep in that she'd walk downstairs in the morning and her father would just be gone again. There was a truth she knew, deep down. She wouldn't be able to handle that kind of a loss again. Yes, she was aware of her strengths, that bountiful well that was deeper than she could've imagined. But everything had a bottom and even the strongest had a breaking a point. There'd be nights, if she didn't go down to the kitchen, she'd just sit outside of her parents' room and listen to them sleep. The steady breaths as they rested with the occasional soft snore echoing within the walls of the only home she'd ever known.

When the escape of summer came, she'd found her calendar surprisingly full - no longer the same social outcast she'd once been. Vacationing with her family was still, of course, a priority. It had been years since they'd travelled to their favorite spot outside of the city, free of the haze of the lights where they could see the stars and catch a breath of fresh air.

It was relatively early in the morning when she'd slipped out of the tent she was sharing with Charles Wallace. She left a note for whoever might stir before she gets back that she'd gone for a walk down to the lake. If there was ever a time for silent reflection, this was it. She made it down to the lake as the sun was cresting over the tips of the trees, lightly disturbing the image duplicated in the water with each stone.

He was back and he wasn't leaving again. He was back. He's solid and real and steady. The stone she throws drops with a familiar singular plunk.

Breathe. Focus. Stay present. ]