Patricia's Writing

It finally happened. So why do I feel so unfulfilled? Why am I so empty?

That was all that I wanted for months and now it seems hollow. Like the words that came out of her mouth were just empty, falling to the floor and shattering right at my feet. It was all I had been waiting for and it was glorious for one shining moment until the drop came.

The night before lights danced around the room, looking like thousands of stars all in one place. It was like the universe had suddenly closed in around me and everything was made of starlight. It was wild.

The curtain closed. I left. I was high on that moment and then it all came crashing down.

Light. It began and ended with light. A perfect contrast. Or was it an imperfect similarity?

It's insane how one moment can be tarnished by the next. How words can hammer you down into the dust.

He left.

He called.

I didn't want to answer.

It was ruined.


((Soooo this is super vague and weird but it just sort of came out. I'm listening to a lot of eclectic music while I'm writing))

(Prompt: 20 line poem where every line starts with the first letter of your first name and it can't be about you. This was hard.)


Passing slowly, time is always
Pleasantly late or early. Now
Please sit back and watch how
Puppetry really comes into
Play when you aren't really
Planning on being in a sick show.
Perhaps they might take mercy on you or
Pardon their actions with a wave of their hands but
Praying for intervention is a dangerous
Plan to stake everything on.
Participate as little as you need to.
Philander about the stage in a way that
Pleases your audience and don't ever
Play idiot to try to lessen the
Pain coming your way.
Purer words should be spoken but they are
Pulled away from you as
Putrid ideas bring you to the
Pulsing realization that you're a
Pawn.

Life is always at a point of the half written story.

Sure, the introduction is vague but interesting enough to keep your attention. Learning to walk, to speak, to feel. It's meant to be exhausting. The ultimate distraction is new knowledge and how I fall for it every single time. Living life, constantly reevaluating and taking in new stimuli whether it be good or bad.

The problem is that when you're in a half written story you never know when the climax is coming. Every little plot bunny could lead to a possible climb. It feels like the climax teases me too much. I think every little thing is THE big thing. How are we supposed to know where our climax lies? Will it be in my twenties? Thirties? Forties? Will it be on my deathbed?

Half written stories are shit. That's what they and my life have in common.

((Wow. I write super gloomy shit. What the hell?))

((So, I'm going to try to just write without thinking and it will probably be a disaster but I have my Vance Joy record to accompany me))

I am trying the best that I can.

There's only so much you can do when you live in a world where people think miracles aren't real and it's your job to be the miracle worker. Yes, I am very aware of the reference to the play and it is very much not the same. Thanks for your input. Goodbye.

The hard things about working miracles is that people always expect more! Bigger, better miracles! Sure, it started out simple. Like snow in July. That isn't a very difficult thing to do when you're magic. Then they start to want more.

There are rules! I can't just do anything I wanted because then I would be out of this dimension and into one where everybody else works miracles except for me.

Cure this, make this happen, conjure this. The demands get ridiculous. How do I explain to people that it is magically impossible to convince Taylor Swift to make out with you? It's against the rule of consent and honestly, I don't want that woman anywhere near you. You just hired me with thousands of dollars when you should have been working on making yourself a better person. That would truly be a miracle.

You know what? No. I quit. I can't do this anymore. Make your own miracles. Mine aren't for sale anymore.

Everybody knows about Sirius Black. Remus wasn't even exaggerating. Everybody's heard of everything Sirius have ever done.

Everybody knows that Sirius Black is a hell raising, motorcycle riding, panty dropping, sex god that makes everybody bend to his will. So, yes, maybe Remus knew a little bit about him and his two friends. His two friends were really what concerned him. On one hand there's James Potter. James is rich and seems to know everything about everybody. Honestly, Remus got Sirius and James being friends. What he didn't get was Peter Pettigrew. Peter wasn't like James or Sirius and he didn't seem to have any special talents.

That was beside the point. When James Potter had actually asked the question "You know Sirius Black?" He was sure the taller boy wasn't asking if he knew Sirius personally.

"I've heard of him." Remus hesitated. He had only lived in this town his entire life and happened to be in the same grade. This situation did not bode well. "What about him?"

"What do you think of him?" Okay, this was definitely a plot. And evil plot.

"I think he hasn't said a word to me the whole time I've lived here." If they kept going like this it was going to get ugly. "Why are you asking?"

James looked slightly scandalized at having his obviously thought out plan thwarted by anything. "He just wanted me to see." James gestured over his shoulder.

Remus looked up and his face went slack. Sirius, standing some distance away, nodded his head once and winked. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe that was a hair flip. Either way, Remus was suspicious and he was not going to get caught up in this.

"Whatever you're selling, no. Thank you. Goodbye." That's when Remus proceeded to gather his things from his locker and run far, far away from whatever that was.

When Remus voiced his opinion of how beautiful the stars were he thought Sirius would turn his head and agree, both of them knowing that he wasn't talking about the night sky. However, this wasn't a movie and when Remus turned his head Sirius was still staring at the sky as if nothing else were as important.

Silence.

"I want to go to college." Sirius breathed out.

For the first time, Remus didn't know what to say.

"I know what everybody thinks of me and I almost thought they were right. That's why we came up with the nicknames. It makes us feel clever and reminds us of what we want." An unsteady breath left both of them "If I stay in this town I'm going to die. Not on the outside but inside I will empty, Moony. Do you understand?"

He didn't but he knew he could meet Sirius halfway. "Padfoot." He conceded. The look Sirius fixed on him was like nothing else he had every seen. He didn't know whether to be terrified or not. In fact, there were a lot of things he didn't know at that moment.

"Remus." Like a prayer from Sirius' lips. Oh, that was the first time he had actually used his first name. "I'm going to kiss you."

It was all laid out in the once sentence. Not a question but uttered with hesitation. Both boys knew that this wasn't a joke anymore. It wasn't something they could laugh off.

Remus nodded.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then it all came crashing down.

Sirius was steady above him and made Remus wonder which sight was more extraordinary. Sirius or the stars? And honestly, he thought about how this first kiss would go (if it had ever made it past his imagination) and Sirius practically straddling him was not the sort of thing he had expected.

Sirius pushed their foreheads together as if readying himself before closing the distance.

And, well, Remus doesn't kiss and tell.

((I'm stupidly getting back into this ship. Forgive me.))

I'm scared of love.

I've never mentioned it to anybody before but I guess I'm doing it now.

I don't want to fall in love only to fall out of it again. I don't want to see the transition from good to bad. I don't want to have somebody think the world of me and then watch their opinions turn sour. What if I can't give enough and that's what makes it end? What if I give too much and lose myself? What if everything starts out perfect but then we grow to hate each other?

As much as love is a gift it can also be a weapon; sharp and swift. I don't want it used against me.

I'm afraid of loving someone only to find they don't feel the same. I'm afraid of someone falling in love with me when I don't feel the same.

I guess that's why I instantly shut down emotionally when I feel like someone is starting to like me. I don't want to take the risk.

I'm so scared of love.

I'm so scared of loving anybody else that I think it keeps me from loving myself.

To: Her


You don’t care about my well being. Sure, you care about my physical health and you say you’ll support me but nothing quite adds up. My mental health is a joke to you. A phase that I have ridiculously fallen into. You can’t understand how I haven’t gotten over it yet.

When I cry in front of you there are only harsh words thrown my way. When I apologize for being inconvenient you lecture me on how you never crack under pressure and how I should pull myself together. You call me strong but you treat me otherwise.

You don’t care about my feelings. You care that I look weak. You want me to look strong.

I can’t.

At work I am good under pressure. I know how to deal with angry customers. There is a space that I can be strong because I have to be. It’s exhausting. I don’t want to be another version of myself at home. I want to be me.

But the real me is flawed. The real me feels selfish when asking for anything. The real me cries at harsh words that come from you. You who I am supposed to trust. You who I am supposed to run to. You say that you’ll help but any time I look for sympathy you do the opposite. You lecture.

I have learned to cry silently because of you. I have learned that my pain is better if you pretend you can't see it.

You say I can control how I feel. You say I can choose to not feel angry or hurt. Yet you do not seem to have that same control which you preach. You are suspicious of everything. Angry when anything is out of place. I leave a pencil on the counter and you yell for me to come get it.

My things don’t belong in your spaces. My thoughts do not have a place in your house.

You say you care.

You lie.