Post by AMY WINSTON on Mar 11, 2013 21:24:02 GMT -5
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Springtime.
A time of rebirth, renewal. A time where great beauty comes out of the harsh and frozen winter.
Or at least, that's what Amy was hoping for.
At some point during the winter of her discontent, Amy had decided that enough was enough, and so she signed up for therapy sessions, courtesy of her mother wanting her to 'stop sounding so depressed all the time, Amelia, he was just a guy.' And she talked. About everything. Things she never meant to or wanted to say, she told this man, with his kind eyes and gentle words.
And it all boiled down to the same thing. The last few weeks had been unproductive at best, and the good doctor had told her today that their sessions would be unnecessary if she wasn't willing to do everything necessary to make a recovery.
She would have to talk to him.
It was apparently the only way, because he just kept cropping up. How unresolved everything felt, how she wouldn't stop feeling guilty if she never owned up to the reason why she felt that way. And of course, the big one, the reason she felt that way. The way she felt about him. She had to tell him, she had to make sure that he knew, and then she could come back if things didn't get better.
The thought was terrifying.
She left his office, promising to follow up with him in at least two weeks, and stumbled out into the unseasonably warm weather. The news was distressing. Was she okay to do this? Would she ever be? How could she just call him up and tell him all that? How would that go?
'Oh hey Char, it's Amy. You probably don't recognize my voice because I've been basically avoiding you for months ever since I got back from my runaway bride stunt that I didn't tell you about and you had to find out I left from someone else because I'm literally the worst person on the planet. Sorry about all that, you wanna get dinner or something?'
Yeah, that would go over just swell.
She was pretty sure he totally hated her, and she could go one more day without that horrible brand of total rejection, and it was a very nice day out, so she went the cowards route that took her to Central Park.
It was crowded, naturally, so Amy took the less traveled route and it led her to the gardens. It hadn't been quite warm enough to let everything bloom properly, so they weren't at their complete glory, but it was still very nice. She tried very hard to ignore the couples that lined the path, meanwhile she could practically feel her phone in her bag, ready to follow the doctors orders and call Charlemagne. But she wasn't sure she was ready to see him. Distraught with herself, Amy found the nearest bench, straightened out her pale blue dress and sat down, pulling her phone out and staring at it, willing herself to pony up and end this misery.
A time of rebirth, renewal. A time where great beauty comes out of the harsh and frozen winter.
Or at least, that's what Amy was hoping for.
At some point during the winter of her discontent, Amy had decided that enough was enough, and so she signed up for therapy sessions, courtesy of her mother wanting her to 'stop sounding so depressed all the time, Amelia, he was just a guy.' And she talked. About everything. Things she never meant to or wanted to say, she told this man, with his kind eyes and gentle words.
And it all boiled down to the same thing. The last few weeks had been unproductive at best, and the good doctor had told her today that their sessions would be unnecessary if she wasn't willing to do everything necessary to make a recovery.
She would have to talk to him.
It was apparently the only way, because he just kept cropping up. How unresolved everything felt, how she wouldn't stop feeling guilty if she never owned up to the reason why she felt that way. And of course, the big one, the reason she felt that way. The way she felt about him. She had to tell him, she had to make sure that he knew, and then she could come back if things didn't get better.
The thought was terrifying.
She left his office, promising to follow up with him in at least two weeks, and stumbled out into the unseasonably warm weather. The news was distressing. Was she okay to do this? Would she ever be? How could she just call him up and tell him all that? How would that go?
'Oh hey Char, it's Amy. You probably don't recognize my voice because I've been basically avoiding you for months ever since I got back from my runaway bride stunt that I didn't tell you about and you had to find out I left from someone else because I'm literally the worst person on the planet. Sorry about all that, you wanna get dinner or something?'
Yeah, that would go over just swell.
She was pretty sure he totally hated her, and she could go one more day without that horrible brand of total rejection, and it was a very nice day out, so she went the cowards route that took her to Central Park.
It was crowded, naturally, so Amy took the less traveled route and it led her to the gardens. It hadn't been quite warm enough to let everything bloom properly, so they weren't at their complete glory, but it was still very nice. She tried very hard to ignore the couples that lined the path, meanwhile she could practically feel her phone in her bag, ready to follow the doctors orders and call Charlemagne. But she wasn't sure she was ready to see him. Distraught with herself, Amy found the nearest bench, straightened out her pale blue dress and sat down, pulling her phone out and staring at it, willing herself to pony up and end this misery.
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WORDS;; 517
STATUS;; complete
TAGGED;; Charlemagne//My Zelda
OUTFIT;; Blue dress, white flats, canvas purse.
NOTES;; I DONT KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THIS BUT I THINK ITS GOOD
LYRICS;; hardest of hearts by florence + the machine
CREDIT;; alice
