i wish the world were ending tomorrow. i could arrive at your doorstep and say: come with me.
( another week, another trip to mystic falls.
sometimes it feels as if he's at this boardinghouse more often now than he was years ago, plotting and scheming and crashing parties. perhaps he would not feel so bone-tired about these visits if they were planned and joyous occasions in which he visited his daughter. unfortunately that so rarely is the case lately.
it's moments like these in which he misses hayley. her steadfastness; her certainty; bloody hell, the firmness and tenderness of her empathy. she would know what to do, what to say. of course, if hayley were here, hope would not act up as much as she has this past year. angry and lost without a mother. angry and lost even with her father. because of him.
there is truly so much he has done wrong. there is too much he cannot possibly make up to her. he does not know where to start, how to start, and it feels sometimes as if it would make no difference to her.
the long talk with hope does little to comfort him, or her. the snide, judging remarks from alaric have him seeing red. he retreats to the abandoned library for some peace, some time to get his thoughts together. the wood of the balcony railing is worn around his palms where he stops; his knuckles whiten. a bit more pressure and it will splinter and break.
a part of him could use the bit of violence; another part recognizes the futility. )
sometimes it feels as if he's at this boardinghouse more often now than he was years ago, plotting and scheming and crashing parties. perhaps he would not feel so bone-tired about these visits if they were planned and joyous occasions in which he visited his daughter. unfortunately that so rarely is the case lately.
it's moments like these in which he misses hayley. her steadfastness; her certainty; bloody hell, the firmness and tenderness of her empathy. she would know what to do, what to say. of course, if hayley were here, hope would not act up as much as she has this past year. angry and lost without a mother. angry and lost even with her father. because of him.
there is truly so much he has done wrong. there is too much he cannot possibly make up to her. he does not know where to start, how to start, and it feels sometimes as if it would make no difference to her.
the long talk with hope does little to comfort him, or her. the snide, judging remarks from alaric have him seeing red. he retreats to the abandoned library for some peace, some time to get his thoughts together. the wood of the balcony railing is worn around his palms where he stops; his knuckles whiten. a bit more pressure and it will splinter and break.
a part of him could use the bit of violence; another part recognizes the futility. )