ᴀᴜɢᴜsᴛɪɴᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ⁞×
[and i tried]
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date of breakdown: june 8, 2011
i don't own APH.
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ciao. my name is lovino, first child but least liked, the more mature but less loved.
well bastards, if you wanted a happy story, you should have gone to feliciano. so run off to italy—but WAIT, you say, i'm italy too!
think about it. do you really think of the both of us when you hear 'italy'? or do you think italy and ROMANO.
that's right. i'm not even included. it would be really funny, but i'm not really in the mood for laughs.
well, for the rest of you who want to hear the story of the 'less cute italy', you're in luck. i'll rant till you run.
i've got a million and one stories on spain, on my brother, on any fucker i've had the unfortunate luck of bumping into or have been kidnapped by.
i clearly tolerate few of them and like even less.
so. why does this silence kill me a little.
let me put it this way—once upon a time the spanish bastard got a cell phone. and so did i. and for some reason unknown to me, he decided to text me. and text me. and TEXT—i'm getting annoyed, you get the point. i may or may not have encouraged him a little (he gets encouraged way too damn easily), and it became a part of my day i hardly noticed anymore.
i woke up to his texts and bitched at him for waking me up, slept every night after typing a reluctant goodnight.
it didn't happen until recently, so i never really thought about what would have happened if he stopped.
and here's the part where i mention—i hate being in the company of others, but i go crazy alone. i'm too proud to reply more than once without a reply, so i'll just sit here and wonder if he's ignoring me or is too busy to reply. hell, it could have gotten lost somewhere along the way from italy to spain, it's happened. yes we do long distance. it works. worked? damn it.
i'm insecure and he knows this. i have shit to do, by TOMORROW, but instead i'm here crying like feliciano for attention.
i hate it.
see now my fingers are slipping on the keys and
s...sorry. i'm okay. i swear.
(except i shouldn't what a bad Catholic
i'm done.
he's just—he's not here. he's not in my phone, texting me every hour to ask me what i'm doing. and THIS DOESN'T LEAVE HERE BUT damn it, i had started to...you know. lik—be okay with. that.
and the other thing. i just started to talk with the other countries again. open up a bit more, maybe look them in the eye on occasion instead of scoffing and turning away. the worst part is that it's actually a big step for me but no one realizes that. i thought spain might have. maybe. BUT NO MORE TALK ABOUT THAT
i tried. i really fucking tried. i guess...i guess that when you're used to tuning someone out, it's hard to stop.
(except that it's total bullshit.)
but what can i do. i've been walking on fucking clouds the last few months and FINE it's because of that fucker who makes me churros and saves the best tomatoes for me and cleans for me when i can't.
it's unnatural. because where everyone else sees a high-and-fucking-MIGHTY figure, i see in the mirror
"cute" cheeks a few pinches too fat
feliciano's damn hair
mud-coloured eyes
the most fucking awkward figure i've ever seen.
a scowl, a mask—
it's all me. i fucking hate me.
oh, go ahead, slap one of america's labels on me. i'm not scared of blood but i'm scared of pain. i'm scared of that damn thunderstorm i just bore alone cause spain didn't text me and feliciano's out somewhere with some blonde. (and i'll be damned if i have to give him a name.)
but i'm scared most that in one of these breakdowns, i'll lose it. i see russia around and he's creepy with that pipe but scares me shitless because i'm scared i'll become him. he never approaches me specifically, whether because i'm the less prominent half or because he sees what i see, i don't know. i don't want to know.
shit my phone just
THAT BASTARD HAS THE NERVE TO—yeah, well, "having stupid breakdown. will do work later. bitchy but youre used to that arent you bastard."
i can almost see the smile leaving his eyes and i think again of russ
"Do as you wish my tomato~ -heart-"
...
fuck it.
...
wait what's that sound
i swear, if my brother interrupts me ONE MORE TIME
he.
...he brought me tomatoes.
well, there goes a perfectly wasted hour. great.
(they keep me from going crazy and i really don't know what i'd do without them. idioti.)
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i don't write well unless i'm having a breakdown and it shows.
i really appreciate the reviews from the first chapter. you all like me insane, don't you.
romano. i write him the best. i am very much like him, and you might be seeing more of him because i'll be taking my worst breakdowns and twisting them to fit hetalia until it's unrecognizable. maybe even to me.
my moods never last. my boyfriend ended up texting me and my mom brought me cherries.
i'm such a bitch.
Translations:
Italian:
ciao—hello
idioti—idiots