A Co-worker Of Mine Was Standing Outside With Me During A Break From Customers To Share A Cigarette With

A co-worker of mine was standing outside with me during a break from customers to share a cigarette with me, and told me about how he had lost his brother that he was close with some years ago. He told me about how they used to be in a band together with some friends, and how ever since he'd died, he hadn't played any music because he'd been too scared and anxious. I told him about how I'd lost my brother to suicide some years ago.

I went home and pulled out an old tiny wooden box my brother had given me before he'd died. I'd been using it to store guitar picks I'd collected over the years, including one guitar pick that used to be his. I haven't played the guitar since he'd died, my hands are too small to play some of the chords, so I play bass and piano instead.

I went to work the next day and gifted my brothers old guitar pick to my co-worker. I told him that it'd been sitting in a box for ten years unused, and would probably sit there for longer if I kept it there. Told him that I thought he deserved to have it, because I bet he could put it to better use than I ever would. Told him I didn't feel like it was coincidence that me and him would cross paths with each other in our lives, and that it seemed suiting that we had these similar experiences but split in two halves. That somehow, I felt like he was meant to have the guitar pick. I told him that I knew he'd not played guitar since his brother died, but that if he ever decided to play again one of these days, maybe he'd be able to honor both of our brothers by using that guitar pick.

He almost cried. He thanked me. Then he went home that night and for the first time in years he played the guitar.

I don't know what the meaning of life is or what my purpose is, but I do believe that love and human connection is one of the most important things in life. It's finding ways to tell strangers you love them and share experiences with others. I think it's all just about love.

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

8 months ago

why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

9 months ago

you can pry starting sentences with 'and' or 'but' out of my cold, dead hands

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

2 years ago

idk im really tired of 15-17 year olds who have never interacted with the gay community irl and spend too much time on tiktok trying to act like the authority on all that is lgbt+

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

2 years ago

“when ur a mother” I am basically still a child hello????

Ace culture is feeling triggered when your parents or younger siblings say when you'll be a mother you'll...

Like I don't plant to unless adoption, but I'm like, 15 so wtf r u talking about??

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

1 year ago

the fact that we only have “herculean task” and “sisyphean task” feels so limiting. so here’s a few more tasks for your repertoire

icarian task: when you have a task you know you’re going to fail at anyways, so why not have some fun with it before it all comes crashing down

cassandrean task: when you have to deal with people you KNOW won’t listen to you, despite having accurate information, and having to watch them fumble about when you told them the solution from the start (most often witnessed in customer service)

feel free to chime in i ran out of ideas much faster than i anticipated

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

2 years ago

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

6 months ago

hope is a skill

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

2 years ago

This is a story I've been trying to tell for a long time and every time I try, I find I don't yet have the words for what has happened inside me, because nothing has happened inside me, except that a door long locked has been opened.

The short version of the story is that 14 months ago, I rewatched Good Omens, and then watched it again another six times, and then read a lot of fanfiction, and then wrote a lot of meta. The short version is that six months ago, I watched Heartstopper, and then watched it another 24 times (I kept count), and then, after all that, I was bisexual.

The short version of the story is that for a long time, I believed so deeply that it wasn't meant for me, that it never occurred to me. Until stories asked, but what if it was allowed?

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

9 months ago

Yesterday I almost cried because my baby cousin ran up to my grandmother and was like. “Ha! Buhbuh ba ha.” And she said okay you want to show me something? And he led her over to the garden patch and crouched down and pointed at rocks and plants and was like. “Ah. Habah ba ah” as she listened attentively.

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ihavethoughtsomtimes

2 years ago

tongue. if u put them on ur tongue.