they came in the middle of the night and they took my children and my wife and they were screaming "PURPLE PROSE PURPLE PROSE PURPLE PROSE"

the divide

She came in like a rogue wave, her hands the destruction and the power, her tears the aftermath. She threw papers and tossed her bag and flattened her palms out straight so they resonated with a heavy smack against the wooden table top.

Len jostled, but didn't cast a glance, pretending his book was far more interesting than the incoming and inevitable avalanche, creeping up like the uncomfortable bubble of anxiety fizzling in the pit of his stomach.

"Why," Rin sobbed, in her broken and blubbering mess, "why can't I ever just be good enough for you?"

Her hands snatched the book from his, and he grabbed at the air. His eyes met hers all bloodshot and wet, and he pressed his lips together thin to keep words from tumbling out.

"I try so hard," she said, throwing the book across the room. It hit the wall with a pitiful sound of defeat, plopping to the ground in closed position. "I try so hard to mean something in your life, Len. I have pulled myself apart and put myself back together again, and still - still I'm never good enough. You still treat me so indifferently compared to everyone else. Am I really that unimportant to you?"

He bit his lip hard, hands trembling in his lap. In his silence, he was calculating words and stringing together a sentence she wanted to hear.

"Even now, all you can give me is silence. Like I'm not worth the conversation. Was I ever worth anything to you? Len?"

Rin stared down at him with wide eyes, so questioning and sincere, and it irked him she was being serious. But it was stupid of him to ever think she wasn't being serious. She always was, no matter how ridiculous the words coming from her mouth sounded.

"Would it be better if I just disappeared? You seem so much more happy without me."

And that - that was it.

Something in Len snapped, something in his composure. His hands pushed at the table and he stood from his chair with such a force it tipped backwards, smacking into the cabinet behind. The glass ornaments inside rattled, a warning, but he paid no mind to it.

The words began to fall from his mouth before he could think.

"Yeah. Yeah, Rin. Maybe you aren't good enough for me. Maybe you don't have any meaning in my life. Maybe you aren't that important to me. Maybe you're not worth the conversation. Maybe you weren't ever worth anything to me. Maybe it would be good if you disappeared."

He spat them out, harsh and bitter like bile. They hung in the air and shimmered as ghostly figures while Rin's mind soaked them in, wringing them out for every last meaning. Her skin went white and expression blank, as the room settled into an uncomfortable silence.

It was too late.

Len swallowed, as if choking back more he wanted to say. His fingertips scraped at the fabric of his shorts, coarse and dry; it was if he was scratching them against sandpaper. He took a breath.

"That's what you wanted to hear, right, Rin? That's what you wanted to hear," he said, voice returning to its usual, softer tone. He stole his eyes away from her fallen face and reached for his chair, scooping it back into place. Then he made way for his book, plucking it from its resting place on the ground.

She hadn't moved from where she stood. It was as if she'd been frozen in time, staring vacant at the place he once was.

He placed a palm on the cool surface of the window sill nearby, wiping away at the dust. There was no telling how he was acting so calm, when underneath this facade, his stomach was turning like a hurricane. "I finally said what you've been wanting me to say, so what are you going to do now?"

Rin's eyes snapped to his, but they were cold and blue and hollow. He couldn't read what she was thinking, how she was feeling. In fact, he hadn't been able to do that for a long time.

There was slither of something other than indifference on her face, in that split moment before she turned and made way for the door. Her expression contorted into somewhat that of pain, an inner war raging beneath the skin and tearing her apart from inside out.

But she left him. She left without another word, leaving what he said hanging in the air like ripe fruit ready to be plucked.

Len exhaled, blowing the tattered ruins of their conversation away with the mess she left behind.

yes i know i havent updated anything and i havent replied to messages because i am woeful at doing anything useful other than be a piece of shit (finger guns) i want to die

i have been dragging my sad ass through final exams and now i have two essays to write before the end of this month. (inhales) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA im gonna bullshit everything because thats what im good at. aha.

anyway i got the powerful urge to write angst at 2am, which is nothing surprising. and no it doesnt have any specific meaning. find the meaning yourself.