Grey-Blue
We are not boyfriends.
An excellent way to start a journal. Do I have time for this? Probably not. I feel like I should though. Make time, fight it out of the day and get something down.
This room is a mess. The bed is covered in papers and boxes and books and my backpack and about three coats. I keep forgetting to hang them up, or put the papers away. I guess some are schoolwork. I guess some are also letters or junkmail or other things I just never get around to throwing out before I come back here. They migrate back and forth from the floor to the bed. I'd probably cover the desk too, if it wasn't already covered. Sodacans, candy wrappers, instant soup containers. There's a window between it all where you can see the clock, but other than that good luck finding something. My glasses are usually buried within fifteen minutes. And that's just how it works.
We all grow up. You don't think about that when you're younger and running around. You think you're immortal then, just because you're helping others out. Nothing can touch you, just because you've never been touched. But we get older, we grow up, we realize that sometimes after the adventure ends there's something missing. I think it's the same even if you're not some sort of hero. I think we all get out of that mist of childhood and find out something got left at the door.
And then we move on to college, and we meet other people, and we get confused. Okay, maybe just I get confused. Or maybe I don't.
So maybe I should go back to what I started this with.
He's like me. Sort of. We worked together for a little while, but it was more than a decade ago, and back then neither of us were who we are now. That's one thing that people keep changing their minds on, strange enough. They say nobody changes, and then they say everyone changes. Well...People don't change for you, but they change. Pit's an example.
Once you stop riding the wave of heroism and stuff, you stop and look around and suddenly the world you knew isn't capable of knowing you anymore. Everything and everyone stand at an arm's length. So you look around for people like you, because they're the only ones who can relate to you anymore.
Maybe I wound up with him just because we used to be such good friends. Towards the end when we were working together, we sort of moved apart, but then it turned out we both came here to learn...cause you need a life outside of being a hero once you're done with that. Yeah, right. Would anyone have noticed if we hadn't tried to save the world from housecleaning robots and harpies? Maybe not. Nobody seems to really remember him. Maybe that's why he can go outside, and I stay in here holed up with books and a pair of scratched glasses trying to get through another year.
Pit's bed is never slept in. That's what I mean when I say the papers and boxes and mess on mine just migrates on and off the floor. His bed is a shelf, not a bed. He doesn't use it. We share one. But this is what I mean. I'm nothing restricting him, and he's nothing restricting me. We just happen to be together. It's not formal, we don't talk about it. It just happens. Like a mutual understanding that's been going on so long, you don't really think about life without it. I guess you could say it's something close to a relationship, but then you could say going to lunch every day is a relationship.
In truth I think I've got more of a romantic thing going on with mushroom flavoured ramen than Pit.
At the same time, I know we wind up thinking about eachother. Maybe like how you think of your dog at home or something. How you do nice things for it, and it's happy in return. Except I don't think most people think of their dogs in the shower.
So what does it mean? He goes out, I stay here. He slacks his homework and runs around and showers when he comes back while I study up on C++ and military history. There's no fluffy hug or 'how was your day, darling?' because that's just rediculous. That's just not us. It's 'Hey.' I go 'hey' back, and that's the end of it until we both get into bed.
I don't expect more. It feels good to not need to expect more. It's a constant, one of those things I can rely on even if I'm unsure of my eyesight or my schoolwork or my history or my body. I can be sure that Pit's going to come back and be a semi-asshole, and I can be a semi-asshole back.
Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I'm submissive. Just because we're having sex doesn't mean we're dating. Just because I'm not human doesn't mean I'm not Human.
My name's Rock. Most people know me as Megaman. Once, I was a hero. Now I'm just like any other college student.
We are not boyfriends.
An excellent way to start a journal. Do I have time for this? Probably not. I feel like I should though. Make time, fight it out of the day and get something down.
This room is a mess. The bed is covered in papers and boxes and books and my backpack and about three coats. I keep forgetting to hang them up, or put the papers away. I guess some are schoolwork. I guess some are also letters or junkmail or other things I just never get around to throwing out before I come back here. They migrate back and forth from the floor to the bed. I'd probably cover the desk too, if it wasn't already covered. Sodacans, candy wrappers, instant soup containers. There's a window between it all where you can see the clock, but other than that good luck finding something. My glasses are usually buried within fifteen minutes. And that's just how it works.
We all grow up. You don't think about that when you're younger and running around. You think you're immortal then, just because you're helping others out. Nothing can touch you, just because you've never been touched. But we get older, we grow up, we realize that sometimes after the adventure ends there's something missing. I think it's the same even if you're not some sort of hero. I think we all get out of that mist of childhood and find out something got left at the door.
And then we move on to college, and we meet other people, and we get confused. Okay, maybe just I get confused. Or maybe I don't.
So maybe I should go back to what I started this with.
He's like me. Sort of. We worked together for a little while, but it was more than a decade ago, and back then neither of us were who we are now. That's one thing that people keep changing their minds on, strange enough. They say nobody changes, and then they say everyone changes. Well...People don't change for you, but they change. Pit's an example.
Once you stop riding the wave of heroism and stuff, you stop and look around and suddenly the world you knew isn't capable of knowing you anymore. Everything and everyone stand at an arm's length. So you look around for people like you, because they're the only ones who can relate to you anymore.
Maybe I wound up with him just because we used to be such good friends. Towards the end when we were working together, we sort of moved apart, but then it turned out we both came here to learn...cause you need a life outside of being a hero once you're done with that. Yeah, right. Would anyone have noticed if we hadn't tried to save the world from housecleaning robots and harpies? Maybe not. Nobody seems to really remember him. Maybe that's why he can go outside, and I stay in here holed up with books and a pair of scratched glasses trying to get through another year.
Pit's bed is never slept in. That's what I mean when I say the papers and boxes and mess on mine just migrates on and off the floor. His bed is a shelf, not a bed. He doesn't use it. We share one. But this is what I mean. I'm nothing restricting him, and he's nothing restricting me. We just happen to be together. It's not formal, we don't talk about it. It just happens. Like a mutual understanding that's been going on so long, you don't really think about life without it. I guess you could say it's something close to a relationship, but then you could say going to lunch every day is a relationship.
In truth I think I've got more of a romantic thing going on with mushroom flavoured ramen than Pit.
At the same time, I know we wind up thinking about eachother. Maybe like how you think of your dog at home or something. How you do nice things for it, and it's happy in return. Except I don't think most people think of their dogs in the shower.
So what does it mean? He goes out, I stay here. He slacks his homework and runs around and showers when he comes back while I study up on C++ and military history. There's no fluffy hug or 'how was your day, darling?' because that's just rediculous. That's just not us. It's 'Hey.' I go 'hey' back, and that's the end of it until we both get into bed.
I don't expect more. It feels good to not need to expect more. It's a constant, one of those things I can rely on even if I'm unsure of my eyesight or my schoolwork or my history or my body. I can be sure that Pit's going to come back and be a semi-asshole, and I can be a semi-asshole back.
Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I'm submissive. Just because we're having sex doesn't mean we're dating. Just because I'm not human doesn't mean I'm not Human.
My name's Rock. Most people know me as Megaman. Once, I was a hero. Now I'm just like any other college student.