the solar system || johnlock ||

earth

This is real.

This is nothing but unadulterated emotion reigning freely over two lost people who found each other. He found me.

So many things have him stand out from among the dry leaves, the papery shells of people around us. Even the trees are wooden skeletons, naked in the cold. But John is warmth, and light, and love. He glows like a tungsten filament, even in the winter.

I know how the romances play out. The infatuation, the frivolity, the betrayal, the heartbreak.

The fabricated compliments come crumbling down, sending fault lines underneath the glass house you built around your heart. You live without a lifeline, blindly stumbling down a mountain you placed there in the first place.

I always wondered;

Why fall in the first place? Why stand your ground in the face of a hurricane in the name of love, calling it courage, and not foolishness?

John is holding my hand.

John is listening to what I say.

John is saying something back to me.

And John is real.

He is as real as the earth beneath my shoes.

He keeps no secrets from me. His shovel is untainted. There is nothing superficial about the way he says it; it escapes his chapped lips like any other solid universal truth.

"Fantastic."

I bend my definition of faith right here, in this moment.

If this is love, I welcome the hurricane with open arms.

$∆L

a countdown begins
till the dynamite gives in