That's what the triggers that everyone else is talking about are.
No, actually. I'm talking about what happens before the dawn starts to break. How you hang on when you can't see the future, when you don't believe things can ever get better.
Spike: Taking up smoking, are you? Harmony: I am a villain, Spike. Hello!
Spike/Harm ,'Help'
The Great Write Way
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Betsy HP - Feb 10, 2003 10:41:26 am PST #577 of 10001
If I only had a brain...
Liese S. - Feb 10, 2003 9:16:43 pm PST #578 of 10001
"Faded like the lilac, he thought."
Ah. Apologies. Yes, this is a necessary part. Because it can be such a long time from there to hope, and something's gotta be there to hang onto in the meanwhile.
P.M. Marc - Feb 11, 2003 1:47:56 am PST #579 of 10001
So come, my friends, be not afraid/We are so lightly here/It is in love that we are made; In love we disappear
No, actually. I'm talking about what happens before the dawn starts to break. How you hang on when you can't see the future, when you don't believe things can ever get better.
Morbid humour, a fear of people going through your things. Sometimes, the sneaking suspicion that you'd be doing them all a favour and they'd throw a party to celebrate is enough to keep a body going.
Theodosia - Feb 11, 2003 5:06:44 am PST #580 of 10001
'we all walk this earth feeling we are frauds. The trick is to be grateful and hope the caper doesn't end any time soon"
There's also the conviction that everybody will be better off without you to drag them down with your contagious depression and endless needs and complaining over stuff that you should have been able to cope with. That, since they're essentially healthy people, a couple weeks after the funeral they'll not only be getting on with their lives, the lives will be measurably better because they don't have to cope with You.
Connie Neil - Feb 11, 2003 10:48:51 am PST #581 of 10001
brillig
When I die, the people in my head die too. I can't drag them down too, their stories untold. They may find me in a hospital bed with tubes some day, still scribbling stuff down.
Steph L. - Feb 27, 2003 2:52:42 pm PST #582 of 10001
Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe
New poem (sort of second-draft-ish); not as shallow of a topic as it seems, really:
'Do
Rapunzel, Rapunzel
cut off your hair...
Just a whim, really,
that led to this
transformation.
And now I look like a me
who isn't me.
This short and
sleek doesn't match
the me inside.
Samson was on
to something.
Pretty doesn't matter when
I can't find me.
(reflections aren't real)
(but they are)
Unless this me is a
me who had been waiting,
wanting to come
down from her tower
and out to play.
Rebecca Lizard - Feb 27, 2003 3:53:54 pm PST #583 of 10001
You sip / say it's your crazy / straw say it's you're crazy / as you bicycle your soul / with beauty in your basket
(I think you'd want something like
<i>
Samson was on<BR>
to something.<BR></i>
-- coming out to
Samson was on
to something.
)
Steph L. - Feb 27, 2003 4:03:53 pm PST #584 of 10001
Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe
Yay! Thank you, Lizard!
Of course, now that I've edited, your post is going to look crazy.
Rebecca Lizard - Feb 27, 2003 4:04:57 pm PST #585 of 10001
You sip / say it's your crazy / straw say it's you're crazy / as you bicycle your soul / with beauty in your basket
Dude, do you read me? I ALWAYS look crazy.
askye - Feb 27, 2003 7:03:24 pm PST #586 of 10001
Thrive to spite them
Steph I love it!