jetn:fingersareoptional:fingersareoptional:fingersareoptional:fingersareoptional:fingersar
jetn: fingersareoptional: fingersareoptional: fingersareoptional: fingersareoptional: fingersareoptional: fingersareoptional: *prepares party popper* *nervously shakes the party popper* *slowly falls asleep with the party popper* *has a wonderful night with the party popper* *gets married to the party popper* It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer. My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands. Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…” my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. “Yes,” I say, “but not like this… Never like this…” what the actual fuck -- source link
#night blogging