November 30th, Mid-Afternoon
"Amin mali ten' lle sai."
"What does that mean?"
"Just that ya sang it really well."
There's fibbing, little white lies, and just outright blatant lying; the third of which Carley was very guilty of doing. Well, she's most certainly done the first two as well, but she never usually ended up feeling that bad for them. She never was one to feel bad for fibbing to people she didn't care for. Friends though? That was another story entirely. She was usually pretty direct and honest- blunt. There were certain topics however, she just couldn't be so open with.
Physically, Carley was starting to feel a bit better. Sore of course, but swelling in her face and joints had gone down enough so moving around for extended periods of time was a possibility again. Her left wrist would have to stay in a cast for another week or so, but that was easily manageable. It wasn't as if she'd be working hard or lifting heavy objects anytime soon. Otherwise? There was a little guilt for the lie. A little apprehension and nervousness about the possibility of going back out after the explosion. And there was a good deal of what many others felt as well- grief. It wasn't something she kept mulling over, but sometimes it would hit her. The tragedy. The deaths. The injuries. Businesses that were going to suffer, including The Stitch. Carley dreaded to think of what the store looked like at the moment. With a bit of effort she'd keep pushing it all from her mind. Just one problem at a time, and it's best to start small, right? Not that certain problems were small per se, just that there were things she could actually control, things she could work on as opposed to the larger problems going on at the market. And she had to start somewhere.
Digging around the desk near the head of her bed, Carley located her new and ivory colored stationery and a pen. A stool was then dragged on over where she tentatively plopped down, and then readjusted the lamp at her desk for maximum illumination. After that? She toyed with the pen and stared at a blank sheet of parchment for a good while. It was silly to write this stuff out, wasn't it? Certain things needed to be spoken aloud, said to a person's face. What she was about to write? That was one of those things! ...at least it should be. That was what Carley believed anyways. But saying and doing was a bit harder than writing, and writing itself was a little hard. To get points across and actually get them across properly... to get words pieced together to sound intelligent. She sighed a bit, letting pen fall to her desk with a clatter.
"Yer just over thinkin' this."
Catching her cheek in her palm, Carley leaned against the desk and blew a tuft of hair from her eyes as she sighed again. She really was over thinking things, and still coming up with absolutely nothing. If she had something, it'd be on the paper, and she'd not be staring at a blank canvas, so to speak. Hand pulled from her face she slouched in her stool a little bit, hands resting in her lap. A bit absently she started humming to herself, something she had just recently heard. The last lines of the song she hummed however, weren't hummed, instead, spoken just under her breath. "You are the bluest light..." With a shake of her head, she plucked her pen back of the desk. No more over thinking or procrastination. Writing a letter was never this hard before, and it shouldn't be now. So pen started to move, a little slower than usual, and her writing a little sloppier given her current condition:
Dear Glenn,
I wanted to thank ya again for droppin' by yesterday. It really did mean a lot to me that you cared enough to. It's been a hard couple of days, and you bein' there for me made it easier to deal with. And it was really nice of you to sing that song for me, and you sang it really well; even if yer not a perfect singer. Emotion and passion are much more important than hitting the right notes. Just like in poetry- the message is what's important, not the pretty package it's presented in.
I also want to apologize to you. For lying. I hate lyin' to people, especially my friends because it feels like it doesn't really accomplish anything to lie or hold back, but it's kinda hypocritical for me to say that. Really hypocritical, actually. I looked ya right in the eyes and lied.
You've asked me before if I ever had a big secret, when you were tellin' me yers. I told ya I didn't, and that's true enough because I really don't have a big secret. Not everyone does, but they do hide things from others, or they just keep certain things to themselves. I hate that I age the way I age so much, because it's just not fair ya know? When I was a child me and Cythia would stay in places where there were mostly humans, and I remember not understandin' why over the years I'd remain a child but everyone around me kept gettin' older and older. People that I really cared about too. Cythia always told me not to worry about, because that's just the way things are, and me bein' "gloomy" about it wasn't going to change it. Vee Vee also told me it does no good to worry. She had also told me that at any time I could die, but others didn't always worry about that. I didn't really pay much attention to that, not when she said it, but it makes a lot of sense to me now.
After the explosion, I wasn't sure if I was alive or dead. Everything around me was so dark and so cold, and I couldn't hear anything, and I couldn't move. I was trapped, and I was really, really scared. Not because of death, because the thought of myself dying one day doesn't scare me. It was because if I had died, then that means there's so much I haven't told a lot of people that might have gone unsaid, either because I was scared I'd just lose them, or because I figured I had a lot of time to say it. Everything Vee Vee told me, about makin' the most of now, makes so much more sense. No matter anyone's life span, it's not a guarantee. Regardless of the fact if we have five minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks, or months, or years, or even fifty or five hundred everyone should make the most of it. The past should never be forgotten, but it shouldn't anchor people back, and the future isn't guaranteed. The present is the only certain thing anyone has. I haven't been doin' that, not really, because of all this fear that holds me back. And I don't want to live like that any more, bein' so worried about the future. I'd rather 'live' for five years than be 'alive' for five hundred, if that makes any sense. And I'd rather let people in, and enjoy every moment I have with them, rather than keep them at distance to make uncertain future pain easier to take.
Amin mali ten' lle sai- It means that I really care about ya, and that I don't want to lie to you anymore.
-Carley
"Amin mali ten' lle sai."
"What does that mean?"
"Just that ya sang it really well."
There's fibbing, little white lies, and just outright blatant lying; the third of which Carley was very guilty of doing. Well, she's most certainly done the first two as well, but she never usually ended up feeling that bad for them. She never was one to feel bad for fibbing to people she didn't care for. Friends though? That was another story entirely. She was usually pretty direct and honest- blunt. There were certain topics however, she just couldn't be so open with.
Physically, Carley was starting to feel a bit better. Sore of course, but swelling in her face and joints had gone down enough so moving around for extended periods of time was a possibility again. Her left wrist would have to stay in a cast for another week or so, but that was easily manageable. It wasn't as if she'd be working hard or lifting heavy objects anytime soon. Otherwise? There was a little guilt for the lie. A little apprehension and nervousness about the possibility of going back out after the explosion. And there was a good deal of what many others felt as well- grief. It wasn't something she kept mulling over, but sometimes it would hit her. The tragedy. The deaths. The injuries. Businesses that were going to suffer, including The Stitch. Carley dreaded to think of what the store looked like at the moment. With a bit of effort she'd keep pushing it all from her mind. Just one problem at a time, and it's best to start small, right? Not that certain problems were small per se, just that there were things she could actually control, things she could work on as opposed to the larger problems going on at the market. And she had to start somewhere.
Digging around the desk near the head of her bed, Carley located her new and ivory colored stationery and a pen. A stool was then dragged on over where she tentatively plopped down, and then readjusted the lamp at her desk for maximum illumination. After that? She toyed with the pen and stared at a blank sheet of parchment for a good while. It was silly to write this stuff out, wasn't it? Certain things needed to be spoken aloud, said to a person's face. What she was about to write? That was one of those things! ...at least it should be. That was what Carley believed anyways. But saying and doing was a bit harder than writing, and writing itself was a little hard. To get points across and actually get them across properly... to get words pieced together to sound intelligent. She sighed a bit, letting pen fall to her desk with a clatter.
"Yer just over thinkin' this."
Catching her cheek in her palm, Carley leaned against the desk and blew a tuft of hair from her eyes as she sighed again. She really was over thinking things, and still coming up with absolutely nothing. If she had something, it'd be on the paper, and she'd not be staring at a blank canvas, so to speak. Hand pulled from her face she slouched in her stool a little bit, hands resting in her lap. A bit absently she started humming to herself, something she had just recently heard. The last lines of the song she hummed however, weren't hummed, instead, spoken just under her breath. "You are the bluest light..." With a shake of her head, she plucked her pen back of the desk. No more over thinking or procrastination. Writing a letter was never this hard before, and it shouldn't be now. So pen started to move, a little slower than usual, and her writing a little sloppier given her current condition:
Dear Glenn,
I wanted to thank ya again for droppin' by yesterday. It really did mean a lot to me that you cared enough to. It's been a hard couple of days, and you bein' there for me made it easier to deal with. And it was really nice of you to sing that song for me, and you sang it really well; even if yer not a perfect singer. Emotion and passion are much more important than hitting the right notes. Just like in poetry- the message is what's important, not the pretty package it's presented in.
I also want to apologize to you. For lying. I hate lyin' to people, especially my friends because it feels like it doesn't really accomplish anything to lie or hold back, but it's kinda hypocritical for me to say that. Really hypocritical, actually. I looked ya right in the eyes and lied.
You've asked me before if I ever had a big secret, when you were tellin' me yers. I told ya I didn't, and that's true enough because I really don't have a big secret. Not everyone does, but they do hide things from others, or they just keep certain things to themselves. I hate that I age the way I age so much, because it's just not fair ya know? When I was a child me and Cythia would stay in places where there were mostly humans, and I remember not understandin' why over the years I'd remain a child but everyone around me kept gettin' older and older. People that I really cared about too. Cythia always told me not to worry about, because that's just the way things are, and me bein' "gloomy" about it wasn't going to change it. Vee Vee also told me it does no good to worry. She had also told me that at any time I could die, but others didn't always worry about that. I didn't really pay much attention to that, not when she said it, but it makes a lot of sense to me now.
After the explosion, I wasn't sure if I was alive or dead. Everything around me was so dark and so cold, and I couldn't hear anything, and I couldn't move. I was trapped, and I was really, really scared. Not because of death, because the thought of myself dying one day doesn't scare me. It was because if I had died, then that means there's so much I haven't told a lot of people that might have gone unsaid, either because I was scared I'd just lose them, or because I figured I had a lot of time to say it. Everything Vee Vee told me, about makin' the most of now, makes so much more sense. No matter anyone's life span, it's not a guarantee. Regardless of the fact if we have five minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks, or months, or years, or even fifty or five hundred everyone should make the most of it. The past should never be forgotten, but it shouldn't anchor people back, and the future isn't guaranteed. The present is the only certain thing anyone has. I haven't been doin' that, not really, because of all this fear that holds me back. And I don't want to live like that any more, bein' so worried about the future. I'd rather 'live' for five years than be 'alive' for five hundred, if that makes any sense. And I'd rather let people in, and enjoy every moment I have with them, rather than keep them at distance to make uncertain future pain easier to take.
Amin mali ten' lle sai- It means that I really care about ya, and that I don't want to lie to you anymore.
-Carley