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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2024-01-15 18:55:05 -08:00
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writing/post-self/motes/007.md
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@ -104,7 +104,7 @@ She spent time with them all, yes, but the benefit of diving deep into music is
At some point, though they disagreed on when — was it five years later? Ten? Each argued passionately for one, and then the other — they *became* dates.
There was sense of aromancy in A Finger Pointing that grew after she forked. <!-- Discuss --> She never could say where from; perhaps it was simply that she would rather have been friends with anyone rather than foster a particular friendship with one person. And yet there was something about Beholden. Something fulfilling, perhaps, or complementary, or a self-love that rose above others.
There was sense of aromancy in A Finger Pointing that grew after she forked. <!-- Discuss --> She never could say where from; perhaps it was simply that she would rather have been friends with anyone than foster a particular friendship with one person. And yet there was something about Beholden. Something fulfilling, perhaps, or complementary, or a self-love that rose above others.
And so they fell in love, each in their own way. They fell in love and, for the most part, reveled. Yes, they had their spats. Yes, they had their flings besides, and the occasional relationship, all negotiated and cherished and bound up in compersion. But yes, they had each other.
@ -142,9 +142,9 @@ A note here: *Surely The Only Constant can find some less dramatic way to depict
A message there: *Beholden To The Flow Of The Crowds was seen punching someone at The Party. I would ask that you inform her of our standards of behavior.*
It became something of a joke — granted, mostly to herself, for she rarely shared any of these messages with others. Even True Name thought less of optics than Hammered Silver. Even the politician!
It became something of a joke — granted, mostly to herself, for she rarely shared any of these messages with others. Even True Name thought less of optics than Hammered Silver. Even the politician! These notes began to feel like letters to the editor for some small-town newspaper: semi-public complaints about propriety that left a sour whiff of entitlement in the air behind them.
And yet their apparent friendship continued.
And yet their apparent friendship continued. Somehow, against all odds, they continued to meet weekly for years, for decades. They would find some dainty cafe in an equally dainty neighborhood in the middle of some enormous city serving wine and sandwiches on baguettes. They would find some twee farm stand in the middle of millions of acres of carefully curated land serving the best fucking salad either of them had ever tasted
((the past: Motes))
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