knitonlyinthegrid:

theunsaidtruth:

Remember Steve?

Reblog and click on that picture.

And remember Joe?

Reblog and click that picture too.

quietestsilence:

Azar Nafisi wrote: “You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”

Those words, strung together, somehow sum up everything…

quietestsilence:

“Samuel?” she looked at the person on the other side of the door in complete shock. Her best friend stood before her, an unshaven scruff on his chin, hair tousled to a lazy perfection. He was just wearing a t-shirt and shorts and his signature purple kicks. Her heart lurched at the sight of him; all these emotions came flooding at her, making her realize just how much she missed him.

“…Hi” he looked down, as if ashamed for her to see his face.

“What are you doing here? You must be freezing!” She hurried him inside and led him over to the kitchen of her tiny townhouse. “Tea? Coffee?” she began searching through her cupboards, trying to distract herself from the need to wrap him up in her harms and wipe the sad look off his face.

“Coffee would be great actually.”

“Two sugars and cream.” she mumbles automatically.

“You remember.” She could sense the smile on his lips. Her heart went into overdrive and her stomach twisted into knots. Relax, she told herself, relax.

“Of course I remember.” She turned around, the sight of him almost hurt, almost. She gazed at him, trying to absorb every last detail of his face. She watched his little quirks, like the way his back was hunched over as if the weight of the world lay upon his shoulders and the way he mindlessly played with the ring on his middles finger. She imprinted all these things into her thoughts, because it was now that she realized just how much she had forgotten about him. Of course she was glad that he was here, but he was also a painful reminder of everything that had transpired in the last couple of years. “Come on,” she nudged. “Let’s get a blanket around you.”

 

They moved over to the couch and she settled in, laying a blanket on her lap and pulling up one side so they could share. She had done this a million times before and yet, she was still cautious of her movements. She was not as comfortable as she once was around him; there wasn’t the same ease that came with their relationship. She was worried that with one wrong move he would go running.

“What happened to you?” She asked gently as she sipped his coffee. He looked so small and his eyes so sad. She wanted to make everything better for him but he had hurt her, and she didn’t know how to fix it all.

“I…I’m…Belle…” he started, but his eyes welled up in tears and her heart sank.

“Shhhh,” she comforts, finally wrapping her arms around him. “It’s okay, you can tell me tomorrow. It’s okay.” He relaxed under her touch, the feeling of breaking down rushed out his body with every exhale. He forgot how much he needed her and the affect she had on him. “You should get some rest.” she whispered, kissing him on the top of his head. She went and grabbed some blankets from the closest and set up a bed on her sofa. “Nighty, night.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” he smiled.

 

She lay in her bed, wondering if the night’s events were actually real or just a figment of her own imagination. She thought back to two nights ago, when she was grateful for the only sign she had of him being alive. She grabbed her laptop and powered it on; going through the familiar motions she found herself on her tumblr page. Scrolling through her dashboard she breathed a sigh of relief at his familiar username showing he had liked and reblogged the things she had posted. This was her sign, every nights for the past year and a half she had checked her stupid page and reblogged things she didn’t really care about, all in the hoped tat he would see and show her he was still out there.

“Hey,” a voice came after a soft knock on her bedroom door.

“Hey,” she whispered back. The silence of nights made it feel like everything should be more subdued. The night called for quiet, simple actions. Silently, the door opened and Samuel appeared in her doorway. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he stood there awkwardly, something pressing on his mind. Even after all this time his emotions were still written on his face.

“Come,” she patted the spot next to her. “Sleep.” she commanded. He sighed, happy she understood that he needed to be around someone tonight, and jumped, landing right next to her. “Oof.” she complained. She was beginning to remember the little details about him, like the way he always and I mean always leaped onto beds with a child like eagerness.

“Hahaha sorry” He smiled his oh-so charming smile.

“It’s okay,” she grinned. “You should sleep.”

“What are you doing?” his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Just on tumblr, got to sleep.” She commanded again.

“Okay, fine.” His stubbornness showing; he snuggled up against her and his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her body. Where their skin was pressed together felt as though they were on fire. Within minutes she could feel his body relax and she knew he was asleep.

 

She woke up the next morning with his arms lazily on her waist. So many times she had awakened to this and even now, she didn’t want it to ever end. Moving very gently, she turned her head to see the time. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed, bolting up. Her abrupt movements cause him to fall off the bed and with a loud thud he jolted awake.

“I’m up! I’m up!” he cried, just like he had back he had back in high school when his mother would cry that it would cry that it was 8:20 and he was going to be late.

“Oh crap.” she scrambled around the room and adjoining bathroom, rushing to get ready.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Sorry! I’m gonna be late for work.” she grabbed her clothes and scampered off into the bathroom. Jessie was going to be here in any minute to come pick her up.

“Oh yeah,” he grimaced. “Your job.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she said through the closed door. “I love my job.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“Hey,” she said opening the door. “It’s not so bad.”

“I know.” He was scrawled across her bed in a way that only he could: arms and legs spread out so far they reached every corner of the bed. “It’s just not what I thought you would be doing.”

“Oh?” She challenged. “And what did you think I would be doing?”

“I don’t know, teaching music or something!” he continued talking as he followed her into the kitchen. “Not working as a tech in a lab.”

“I like my job.” she grabbed two bowls, their favorite cereal and a carton of milk and started preparing her breakfast.

“I thought you loved your job,” he countered. A rapping noise stopped their conversation mid-reply.

“That’s Jessie.” she hurried to scarf down her food. “Coming!” she hollered.

 

“You woke up 5 minutes ago.” Jessie stated as soon as she opened the door.

“How did you know?”

“Because you wore that skirt yesterday AND you’re hardly wearing any makeup.” She walked into the small foyer. “It’s a good thing I’m always early then, we’ll skip coffee and you can get ready for real.”

“Is that Jessiebear I hear?” His voice echoing through the structure. Jessie looked at her with wide eyes, searching for an explanation from her best friend. Of course Jessie knew who it was, there was one person on this earth she allowed to call her something other than her actual name and she hadn’t heard from him in a year and a half.

“Jessie!” Samuel exclaimed as he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Sassface!” Jessie ran and gave a massive hug to her long-lost friend. He swept her up in his arms and spun her around. “Oh my God, what are you doing here!”
“It’s a long story.” he began.

“Which will have to wait.” She interjected. “Me and Jessie are going to be late. Feel free to hang out!” She called back at him. As soon as the door closed behind them she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Wha-!” Jessie asked, looking at her.

“I know!”

“Belle!” she exclaims. “Belle!”

“I know!” the begin walking down the street on the way to their favorite coffee shop.

“What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know”

“When did he show up?”

“Last night.”

“Wait.” Jessie put her hands out to stop them from continuing forward. “He shows up after a year and a half and you wait this long to tell me? Belle!”

“I’m sorry! But you should’ve seen him Jessie, he was a wreck.”

“I would be to if I came back from the dead.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? Because you knew? You were going off some stupid site!”

“But I was right!”

“Yeah, but what if you weren’t? You were believing a site to know whether or not he was even alive!”

“What were we supposed to do? He left! He left without telling anyone! We called and texted and messaged and he didn’t reply. That site, those stupid hearts and arrows were all that we had!”

“I know.” they walked in silence, both of them still trying to process his return to their lives. “What about, you know.” Jessie nudged.

“Honestly, I can’t even begin to think about feelings right now, everything’s just so overwhelming.”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t think of it, not once?”

“Well…”

“Don’t well me, spill!”

“Maybe for a second, no a millisecond when he was in my bed.”

“In your bed? Belle, you are definitely leaving something out.”

 

“Samuel?” she called. “I’m home.”

“In here.” his voice rang through the halls.

“Where’s here?”

“On the sofa.” She followed the sound of his voice, walking the maze of her own home. “How was work?” he asked.

“It was alright,” she replied, “It’s been a long day.” She went to make herself a cup of hot cocoa and snuggle up on the couch, just like she did after every ‘long’ day. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing I guess, I just watched Netflix. I used your laptop, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” she smiled, turning her attention the boiling kettle in front of her. “Is that all you did?”

“Eh, pretty much, it was either that or tumblr.”

“That’s nice.” her voice going up a few tones, to feign interest.

“Yeah,” his voice was coming closer, he was coming up behind her. “It was a pretty relaxing day.”

“That’s great.” His arms wrapped around her waist. They swayed together to the invisible music; she almost let herself be taken away by the familiarity of the moment, almost.

“No, stop” she said, unraveling his arms from her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing the change in her voice.

“Nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing. Tell me what’s wrong.” They let the silence surround them. She could feel herself suffocating under the tension. Everything was finally coming to the surface and she was ready to explode.

“What’s wrong?” She had a fierceness in her voice, one she forgot she had. “Let me tell you what’s wrong, you left. That’s what’s wrong. You left and all we had was tumblr. That stupid thing, to know if you were alive or not.”

“Belle…” he shrunk down, uncertain how deal with the reality of his own fault.

“No, let me finish. You left Sam, you didn’t tell anyone! We thought you were dead! We texted and called and all I ever got back was a notification from that site. What happened?” Tears stung her eyes as she faced her friend truthfully. “Why did you leave?”

“I…”

“You told me you loved me and you left! Did you ever stop to think that we needed you? Your parents, your siblings, Jessie, me! We all needed you!”

“Belle…” he said coming closer to her. He wanted to hold her, to grab her in his arms and never let go. He wanted to take away the hurt he had caused, all the pain and suffering she had gone through.

“No.” she stopped him. “Don’t you dare come closer.”

“Belle.” he said. She saw the determined look in his eyes, but she still gasped in shock as he closed the distance between them and grabbed her in a suffocating embrace.

“No!” she tried to fight against him, but he was much stronger than him. “No! Sam, let me go!” tears flowing freely from her eyes.

“No!” he asserted. “Never again.”

“Why?” she beat against his chest. “Why?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Bu you did!” she sobbed. “You made me love you and you said it out loud and then you left!”

“I know,” his voice catching in his throat. “I know and I will never forgive myself.” They looked into each other’s eyes, both breathing heavily as they came down from that burst of adrenaline. “Would you believe me if I told you I was scared?” he asked, searching her eyes for a hint of forgiveness. “I was scared and I ran. There’s no explanation, no excuse that could possibly make that better. But I’m here; I came back. I came back for you Belle, I hope you know that.”

“Sam…” he stopped her words with his mouth. She allowed herself to be free of all thought and focus on his lips pressed against her. She melted under his touch and it was like nothing had ever happened.

“I’m sorry,” he said against her mouth. He brought his lips down and for both of them, they didn’t know what the night would hold or what the future would bring, but the burned bridges were slowly starting to rebuild and maybe one day all would be well.

quietestsilence:

Someone once told me, that if a boy truly loves a girl, he looks at her as if she was the only star in the sky

quietestsilence:

One very important thing about me, is i love words. I love how you can make someone cry with just a few words. I love how you can make someone’s day or shatter their world with one sentence. I love with just the right combination you can create magic, and whether that be with poetry or a book or someone just thinking aloud. I love how we can give one phrase so much meaning, we can put everything we have, everything we are into one paragraph and lay it down for the world to see.

quietestsilence:

I hate texting people. Since i can’t see them i can pretty much control the way they respond to everything. Like if they meant something sarcastic i can pretend it isnt because i can’t hear their tone of voice. Texting is dangerous i think, because you can build up someone to be pretty great in your mind and then when you see them in real life, you’re just disappointed. 

quietestsilence:

*Before reading this i would like to point out that I am not in a psychology class of any sort and do pretend to know how a class like this would work. This setting is purely for the story line.

Suicide. The teacher turns around so that the class can see what she’s written on the board. “Suicide.” she reads. “What are your thoughts on suicide?” The class just stares back at her. Some have confusion written on their face, while others look like they have an idea they would like to share but refrain from doing so. “Come on,” she looks around the room. “You’re taking this class for a reason. None of you have a single thought about the subject written on that board?”

“It’s a little soon, don’t you think.” A boy from her far right chimes.

“Is it?” she counters.

“I think so,” he replies. “It’s only been a month.”

“I’m surprised that the topic hasn’t come up sooner, to be honest.” A girl sitting on the opposite side of the room states.

“And why’s that?” The teacher asks.

“Well come on. Everyone’s bound to have heard by now, and this is a psychology class. Suicide deals with depression and other things that are part of the human psyche. So why not? If it’s relevant, why not now.”

“Okay good,” the teacher nods. “What comes to mind when you think of the word suicide.” The students slowly started calling out words, and with each new word a stronger, more confident voice.

“Sadness.”

“Despair.”

“Death.”

“Escape.”

“Pain.”

“Hopeless.”

“Tragedy.”

“Darkness.” After writing each word on the board so that they surround her initial topic, she turns back to the class. “Why, do you people do it? Why do people make the conscious decision to end their life?” A hush falls over the students as they mull over the question. She looks at them expectantly, as she can see the gears turning in their heads. “Mr. Fuller.” she calls.

“Because, life is hard and people suck.” The class chuckles at his response.

“I agree with you,” she laughs. “Life is hard and people do suck sometimes. But if that were the only reason would there be anyone left alive today?” She watches the students shake their heads no. “That’s right. No it’s not. There’s more to it than that. So, why do people see suicide as an acceptable option?”

“Sometimes it’s too much.”

“Why do you say that, Mr. Fuller?”

“Well, I guess, because like I said before, life is hard. And sometimes I think it becomes too much for someone to handle.”

“And not everyone can handle what life throws at them? So suicide is for the weak, those who cannot deal with day to day life.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Okay, let me ask this: How many of you knew Mr. Bray.” At the mention of one of their former classmates, the students of this psychology class stared at their teacher in a mixture of fear and horror. Only a few tentative hands, barely 5, were raised. “And of you that knew him, would you say he was weak?”

“He wasn’t”

“You say that with such certainty, Miss Crest.” she observed.

“I knew Aaron. He wasn’t weak. He was the strongest person I knew.”

“Why?”

“If you knew what he had to deal with, and for how long he had to fight to keep his life together, you would know he wasn’t weak.”

“So why did he stop fighting?” Another silence, the students weren’t prepared to answer questions like this. They were slowly starting to see that this class, this specific subject would be the one discussion that would change something in them. “I’m not here to tell you the answers.” She says slowly. “I can’t tell you why Mr. Bray did what he did, because honestly I don’t think anyone will ever truly know. What I’m trying to do is help you understand what happens. I want you to talk about what you think happens. Discuss. Learn from other people. Try.”

“The world forgets about you.” a mumbled voice says.

“What was that Miss Crest?”

“I said.” she clears her throat. ‘That the world forgets about you. That’s one of the reasons. You don’t feel like yourself, you feel sad and empty and you’re just waiting for someone to notice that something is wrong with you. But no one ever does, so you keep it all inside yourself and you let consume you until there’s nothing left.”

“Is that what you think happened to Aaron?”

“I think that it was one of the reasons.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how close were you and him?”

“Pretty close actually.”

“So how did you react when you found out?”

“Isn’t that a little too personal?” Mr. Fuller intercedes.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. I was mad, so incredibly mad. I just said we were close, and if we were I should have known. I mean, I thought we were and I don’t know. I’m just so mad at myself for not seeing that he wasn’t himself, but at the same time I’m mad that he’s gone and that this is the way he chose to leave.”

“Thank you.” she nods at her student, proud that she found the strength to open up. She turns around to the board and decided to write a word of her own. “Selfish.” She reads. “Some people say that suicide is the most selfish thing a person can do. How many of you agree with this?” About half the class raised their hand. “Okay, if you agree, I want you to sit on the right side of the room and if you don’t I want you to sit on the other, and turn yourselves around so you’re facing each other.” The students started moving around the room, forming groups like teams, one side had one way of thinking while the other had the complete opposite. There they sat like enemies on the front lines, ready for war.

“Okay, Miss Shepherd. You’re on the side that agrees with my previous statement. Why?”

“Because it’s true. It’s the most selfish thing that can ever be done. When someone thinks of suicide, they’re thinking of no one but themselves.”

“That’s completely untrue! How can you say that?” Mr. Franzese exclaims.

“Because it is. No one stops to consider other people right before the do it.”

“That’s a lie. They never stop thinking about the people they care about!”

“So then what?” Miss Shepherd shoots back. “They loved you so much that the only way to deal with it was to kill themselves? No. I’m not trying to say that the decision is easy because I doubt it is, but how could someone chose to hurt the people they love in that way?”

“How could we have hurt them? How could we have not noticed what they were going through, huh?  If they loved us then we obviously loved them, so why is it okay for us to hurt them first and not expect any kind of response? People keep talking as though suicide is a failure of some sort. Like feeling this overwhelming sadness means that there’s something wrong with us.”

“I like that.” The teacher interrupts. “Why do you think people mask their sadness? And I’m not just talk about depression but also even just feeling a little down.”

“Because no one wants to hang around someone who’s sad.” Miss Faber answers.

“Elaborate.”

“I know, for myself, being with around someone who’s constantly low isn’t fun. The atmosphere, the tone, everything’s darker, sometimes you get sucked in with them and then you’re both there in this black hole.”

“But everyone knows suicidal thoughts are something serious, so why don’t they ask for help?” Miss Crest asks.

“Sometimes they don’t want to get better.” The teacher replies. “Depression for some people is like a security blanket, it’s something stable and safe and something that they know they can fall back on. It’s hard letting go of that control and trusting people to help you when you think that they haven’t been there.”

“So who’s fault is it?” Mr. Fuller asks. “Who’s to blame when this happens?”

“No one. Everyone. You can look at it as a blameless tragedy or as a collective failure.”

“Which way do you see it?” The question surprised the teacher as her opinion was rarely asked and even more so, rarely given. Teaching was about letting the students form their own thoughts and ideas but still giving them guidelines to do so.

“I think, that it’s a blameless tragedy. If we choose to blame everyone instead of letting go …I think it does more harm than good. The worst thing people can do, in my opinion, is to look down on those who are suicidal or who have already committed the act and see them as failures.”

“But they are.” Mr. Parker states bluntly. “They failed at life.”

“No.” Miss Crest bursts out. “They didn’t fail. We did. We were too busy absorbed in our own lives, in our own problems to even ask if they were okay. We didn’t want to be burdened with knowing what was wrong; we didn’t have the patience to deal with them. So no, they didn’t fail, we did; we were too selfish to care.”

“That’s not true.” Mr Parker replies. “If they wanted to live, they would have made someone listen. They wouldn’t have been selfish enough to put the people they cared about through the aftermath.”

“Can you blame them?” A quiet voice from the back of the room says. Though so quiet, the words cut through the air for all to hear.

“Why do you say that Miss Corti?” The teacher asks. For the better part of the semester Miss Corti had never spoken. A rule in her class was that if you did not wish to share, you weren’t forced to. Miss Corti had always used that rule to keep to herself and never give out an opinion.

“So they forgot for a moment.” She starts. “When you’re on that edge, right before you’re about to go through with it, you forget. For a moment you forget that there are people who love and care about you. You forget that there will be a tomorrow because all you can see is right now and all this pain that you have to deal with by yourself. You don’t remember that there’s life in you, all you know is that the world has forgotten you exist. So yeah, you can suicide is selfish, but can you blame them? For one second they too wanted to forget about the world they think has forgotten them. All they wanted was a moment where they could forget because every other second of the day their mind is full of their own failures and how they’ve disappointed everyone they’ve ever loved. For a second they wanted to be selfish, they wanted to remember what it was like to feel things and act due to their own accord, because suicidal thoughts and depression take over your mind. They take and take and take until there is nothing left of you to give, and when you think it’s finally over they take from the people you love and that’s what the aftermath really is.”

The whole room goes silent at the voice of this tiny girl in the corner of the room. Her words still hung in the air as the clock reached the hour and the teacher had no choice but to dismiss the students. Something had shifted in them that day, she felt it in the way they talked to each other on their way, the way they gathered there books and when Miss Corti walked past her desk on her way out, she smiled the tiniest smile and mouthed “Thank You.”