𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ／ j.h

𝐱𝐢𝐯.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆
𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆
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James was more used to be the listener.

He couldn't count on the fingers of both his hands and feet how many hours he went on just hearing people vent. With the certainty of a million lawyers, he knew things about people that they didn't even realize.

It was kind of sad, actually. To be the one carrying all of those burdens, not even being the owner of them.

But he was so used to that role, once it changed for the first time, it tied his ankles in a deep, strong knot.

He ran over his own words a few times, gesticulating more than talking, yet, he still felt like he was expressing everything he wanted to express. It was like compressing his brain and watching its juice pour inside lots of organized jars, with a name tag for every little thought and sentiment.

He felt relief.

In a way he couldn't explain, that girl sitting in front of him, wearing the most ridiculous pants ever, brought him relief.

Lexie brought him comfort.

Her role, you may ask? Well, she was used to be the listener too, but only for outsiders.

To herself, she was the talker. She would go about her day doing the littlest tasks and asking her own opinions, decorating the blank room of her mind with paintings of puppies and colorful, scented flowers.

Since nobody had the patience to actually sit down and hear whatever the hell she was trying to express, she kept all of that inside her own world.

All of that brain juice was being forced to stay on its pulp, while thousands of messy and broken glass jars laid about, not one name tag to help in the organization of the chaos. Thoughts, words, sentiments, ideas... All over the place, and she couldn't even put them together because it would only rot her brain furthermore.

But still, being able to ignore her own problems to hand the spotlight over to someone else's, it felt great.

She felt useful.

In a way she couldn't explain, that man sitting in front of her, with that abominous truck-driver-moustache, made her feel useful.

James made her feel proud.

And of course those kinds of epiphanies couldn't bear to be strained inside their blurry minds, and Lexie was the first one to start to work on it, allowing the paintbrush to flow on the white canvas ever so nicely.