˚ ༘ˀˀ ꒰‧⁺ 𝚁𝚊𝚗𝚙𝚘𝚎 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜 ✎ˀ

ˋˏ ༻ ☘️ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ʙᴏʏ ᴘᴛ 1🖤༺ ˎˊ

Words-5342
(A/N this is late I KNOW. but I wanted to give y'all a long chapter in return. I haven't had much inspiration to write and I'm kinda stressing over school and shit because my teachers are fucking me over lolz. I have also been ranking so I don't have much time to write. I loved this idea for these two so I wanted to write it. I hope y'all enjoy this long ass chapter in return for my absence. I will hopefully try and get a chapter out sooner than weeks on end without one lmao. But yeah, thanks for the support anyway. I hope y'all enjoy this one <3. Peace - Andrew)
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Everything seemed dim, the lights with their flickers and heated rays never affected the poet. He gave up writing, the world no longer having the colours they used to have, the bright swirls of reds and purples now becoming dead blacks and grays. It was all soul less, nothing being a life he wanted to live. Everything pointless, mindless, dead, gone, decaying. The meaning of everything became like a song, yet the words and melodies were gone, deaf to Edgar.

He struggled to get up, his legs dangling off of the side of the sunken in bed. His feet touched the floor, the white carpet taking in his weight. The floor around it was cold, freezing. His feet fell quickly asleep by how much time had passed, those 20 minutes feeling like seconds. It all passed him like the light of a flashlight, only lighting up a certain section. An aura of giving up, or fear, who knew. Not even the poet. It surrounded him like clouds in the sky, running around like a lost child in a forest.

His hand trailed to his face, rubbing his eyes away from tiredness. His gray eyes closed once again, a groan leaving his mouth. It wasn't like him to leave bed. Normally staying inside for months on end, no one checking up on him because who would? No one knew him well enough to just bust into his room without an invitation. Yet he had a sudden courage to leave his room, already regretting his decision. A dumb promise he made to himself to leave the house at least once a week, yet he always failed to even do that. Yet, something about today felt different. Maybe it's his gut feeling? Something that stupid? Laughable.

The tall brunette's eyes ran across the walls as he made his way to the bathroom, the white walls being like the blur in his mind, suffocating. But maybe the walls weren't even white? Maybe they were a nice pink, shades of yellow, maybe a light brown. It always surprised him on how much he pitted himself, no one would live like this, it was his fault for completely stepping all over his biggest dream. No time to self pity, pity helps no one.

His phone pinged once again, many "friends" wanting to fix him. They only wanted someone for comfort, they never wanted him, they wanted him for their own sick pleasures. It was disgusting, seeing a vulnerable person and using them like some kind of pencil, drawing your own sick dreams with their emotions. The same "come over, we can talk if you want." No, no they didn't. The poet knew this. Yet he was the one being the bad person, blocking the harassers without a second thought. This time it was from a woman he considered a friend. She always told him to follow his dreams of writing, her own dream already dead by herself, the gun in her hands. She wanted to see Edgar happy, see him do things he could put his everything in. Yet that never happened, truly disappointing.

Louisa
Hey you can come over for today? I really want to tell you something-
Read 7:47am

He sighed to himself, his fingers twitching across the screen looking for words to spill.

Edgar
I can't today. Sorry
Sent 7:50am