I HELD A TINY FROG! It Was So Cute!

“Fuck it, we slay” (heavy eye bags, dehydrated, on the verge of insanity)

No matter how far we go, how far we tread, the truth that stays hidden, shall never be said.

5 years he's been in hiding.

5 miserable years he's had to go by a different name, wear different clothes and tell a different story to everyone he meets. He's been James, Frank, he thinks he even went by Dustin at one point. He's had long hair, short hair, he's been bald. He had a beard for a while and taught music in a small music store, but he shaved it off after a week because all he saw in the mirror was Wayne, his uncle, his family, the man he abandoned.

For 5 years, he's been everyone but Eddie Munson.

The government told him he couldn't be Eddie anymore.

"Eddie Munson is dead." They told him; they even had the death certificate to prove it. "Don't come back to Hawkins. Keep moving. There are still people looking for you." Was the last thing they said to him before dropping him off with a wad of cash in some town he's never been to before.

He'd asked for the date at the front desk of a motel, and they'd told him April 20th. Eddie had crumbled down to his knees and cried, he'd cried so hard the motel clerk asked if she should call someone, asked if he was alright.

"I'm fine." Was his broken reply. He'd taken the key for his room, curled up on the uncomfortable bed, and didn’t move for days. He wasn't alright. He'd been in a government hospital for what he thought was a few days but was actually over a month and then released into the world like some rehabilitated animal. He didn't get to say goodbye to anyone. Fuck, he didn't even know if they all made it out of the upside down. All he knew was that he was alone. And that he couldn't go home. Ever.

He'd eventually gotten over himself and made some kind of life for himself.

It took him a few tries to find something that stuck, something that felt sort of like himself. Every few months, an ungodly amount of money appears in his bank account. The formal bank statement says it's from an estranged relative. Eddie knows it's not. He knows it's the government's way of buying his silence. His expensive rent and struggle to find a job is the only reason he doesn't send it all back to them.

He's lived in his current place for a year now, which is a new record for him, but he's got no friends. Well, he has acquaintances, people he can laugh with every now and then and go out for drinks with, but no one who knows him. No one who knows why he wakes every night screaming, no one who understands why he flinches when the lights in the bar flicker, why he hates the sound of people cracking their knuckles and why his hands shake whenever anyone mentions the scar on his face.

It's late at night when he's covered in sweat and his throat is raw from screaming awake from a nightmare, that he really misses his friends, his family, the people that he went through hell with. He's not allowed to call them, not allowed to send them letters or visit. He's not even allowed to know how Wayne is doing. It hurts. It hurts so much. He can't even look at himself in the mirror anymore because he's aged, and he's slowly starting to look more and more like his uncle.

But his friends are a little harder to escape, it's like parts of them have found him and are trying to haunt him, trying to remind him that he can't be a part of their lives.

Just last week, he walked by a book store and saw a brand new fantasy graphic novel on display in the window, 'written by Mike Wheeler & illustrated by Will Byers' was displayed on the bottom of the cover in gold letters. He's never bought a book so fast in his life. He's read it front to back 3 times already.

He can't even watch the news in peace because they were doing a news story about a small town basketball player who's made it to the big leagues and is winning everyone's hearts with his skills and bright personality. Eddie had cried and wished he'd been there to congratulate Lucas, wished he could have been there to tell him how proud he was.

Even Nancy is haunting him. Her news articles get delivered to his front door every day in the paper and most of the time the articles aren't even sad, but he cries at his small dining table alone, his breakfast cold and his coffee filled with his tears.

He misses his friends. He misses them so much and it's eating him alive. It feels like he's lying on the ground of the upside down all over again, tiny little mouths ripping away at his flesh except this time it's happening from the inside. Each time he's reminded how far away he is from his friends, a small piece of him is eaten away.

He doesn't know how much more he can take.

And then something odd happens. He gets a postcard and it's addressed to him, the real him; Eddie Munson.

The handwriting is hard to read and some words have been crossed out but the name signed at the bottom of the card pulls a sob from Eddie's throat and has him almost crumbling on his doorstep.

I'm sorry I took so long. I'll see you soon.

From Steve Harrington.

want that indie movie, rainy days, reading 4 fun, kate bush, tired smiles, i am not okay with this, music playing, cool girl, lipgloss, doc martens, thrifting, effortless beauty, wlw, mazzy star, chipped nail polish, doodling, dim lighting, end of the f***ing world, quiet, baggy clothes, wind blowing ur hair out of ur face, carolina by taylor swift, record shops, leather jackets, red, messy hair, sunset walks, polaroid photos, crystal rings, smudged eyeliner, fairy lights, playing guitar kind of life i think thats what i deserve

"he is fictional and dead" TO YOU MAYBE

I talked to him personally yesterday and he offered me some tea

I run after him in the cold winter, my laboured breaths creating clouds of steam in the air. A smoke threatening to choke me and blind me and eat me alive. “Don’t walk away from me!” I shout at his back, my voice cracking at the end. He freezes. His fists clench and he stands there, turned away from me. “Don’t walk away from me. Please” I whimper again. He suddenly spins around, eyes red and tears streaming down his cheeks. My heart cracks. “you don’t get to ask that of me” he finally mutters brokenly “you. Do not. Get to ask anything of me!” he repeats louder now, getting in my face. I stand there, sinking and sinking until I wonder if the concrete below me is sucking me in or if his presence is a tornado itself. “You are breaking me. No, you are absolutely annihilating my heart” he whispers with so much emotion that I can see the cracks in his eyes. His hands hold my shoulders desperately and all I want to do is sink in them but all I can do is frantically shake my head while sobbing.  “You crashed into my life,” he goes on “you flipped my world upside down. I gave you my heart. I GAVE YOU MY HEART” he laughs, sounding nothing lie the boy I used to know. “the best part is, I never knew I could have something like what we had. I never knew it existed.” A scoff, he suddenly sneers. “you should have never come into my life. You can’t miss what you never had. But now. Now you have destroyed me. And I will never be the same again” still shaking my head I beg, “please. I-I can’t tell you,” I stop to stifle a sob. “I can’t tell you why I shut you out but you have to trust me. You mean everything to me. You mean the world to me and I can’t I can’t I can’t see you like this. It is killing me please stop please stop feeling like this I can’t breathe and you’re standing there and it hurts it hurts so god damn much because your pain is my pain so stop!” taking in a deep breath, I finally look him in the eye and tell him the truth.

⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺

𝙄’𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙬,

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙚𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

𝙄 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮.

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙄 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙙𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙮,

♡ xoxo-Suzy ♡

⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺

something that really hits me is the way neil reads the opening poem by thoreau at the very first dps meeting. the way after he finishes reading the poem he takes a moment to himself in order to take in what he’s just read. you can tell that these words genuinely mean something to him and that he really resonates with them. i think it’s in that moment that he fully understands what keating means by carpe diem. especially the last line “and not, when i came to die, discover that i had not lived.” it’s so beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, it just has to touch someone where your hands couldn't.

i wish people could understand what they say affects the other person to an extent that they start hating/doubting themselves

Subtle remarks are remarks too.