one day, you'll have to let it go
#1
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Just an FYI that I'm gonna be really scarce starting tomorrow, lol. <_< I'll try my best to reply though!



The rain had stopped, at least momentarily, but already he wished it would start again. The trees seemed thicker here, wherever "here" was, so he probably wouldn't get very wet anyway. He had decided that he liked the rainfall. It was noise, it was a distraction, it kept his thoughts scattered and broken, disjointed and unfinished. Of course, they were often like that without any outside aid, but he was starting to prefer them that way. Ater all, if everything he thought about had already been thought about before, and if everything was ultimately meaningless, then there was nothing lost by not completing thoughts. Some would argue that unfinished things were the most beautiful things; time would not put them to ruin.



The forest was dark, but that meant nothing to him. He saw nothing and kept one arm slightly outstretched to his side, feeling for the trunks of trees as he went. It was undoubtedly dangerous for him to be out there alone, in an unfamiliar territory, without having told anyone where he would be, but hey, he was a nihilist, right? He didn't know where he was going or why. Vaguely, he thought he knew he was headed in the wrong direction, but oh well. Droplets of water fell from the trees as he passed, but otherwise, the woods were quiet. And he was left with his thoughts.
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#2
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OOC: I suck. I know. ._. WDF I AM SO STUPID


He was like a shadow. Immaterial. No one cared where he went or what he did. Ever since Skoll's death and Shadowed Sun disbanding Lubomir had started to become more and more indifferent. He found joy in the moments he could spend with Mew, the childish pleasures they gained from one another. He loved being around her and thinking of her only meant that the times they shared were that much sweeter. Lubomir wondered sometimes what would happen once the cold hit. Unless he joined a pack he would have to face it alone. He smiled to himself. It could be no worse than his crossing of the Great Frozen Planes. He would survive.


It was the scent which caught his attention. The recent downpour had all but blotted everything out and he fancied this scentless world. It made more sense. But this hybrid he remembered well. It had been an interesting meeting and Lubomir had enjoyed the feel of books and reading once more. Slowly, cautiously, he approached the other. And what he saw almost made his heart weep. He was blind. Lubomir sighed softly and tried to make some noise. So he wouldn't take this one by surprise. Clearing his throat, the grey wolf called out, 'Remember me? From the book store. We read poetry together.' How daft it all sounded. Like a memory from another life. Which, to all intents and purposes, it was.

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#3
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Lalala, I'm slowwww. D;



It hadn't really occurred to him, all the things he'd be losing along with his sight. The words, the stories, the escape he'd once found between the dusty shelves and yellowed pages. It hadn't occurred to him that he would no longer be able to draw music from the dots and lines, to focus on the ivory and black keys. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd no longer be reminded of silly things just because something looked familiar. Nothing could look familiar anymore; there were no colors, and there were no shapes. Even the white he saw wasn't really white at all. He turned to the other as he approached, expression as empty as ever it had been, but not so quite as cold and distilled as it could have been.



Perhaps he did remember, but all of those brief and chance encounters took their time surfacing in his mind. In the long run, few things were important, and so everything else melted away and were devoured by time and the disease in his head, in his heart, or whatever was left. I have a bad memory, he said truthfully, It might come to me. He shrugged and turned again back in the original direction he'd been facing. It might not. But what do you remember of me?
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