“Relax, Cap,” I said as Bucky and I followed him from a few paces behind. It had been a few months since Bucky resurfaced after Hydra’s defeat, and when he did Steve naturally was the one to volunteer to help reintegrate Bucky back into society. I in turn volunteered to help Steve with this task since we became good friends after he, as Tony put it, “thawed out.”
“Every time we go to the store for groceries he acts like it’ll be the apocalypse if we don’t get there right when the store opens,” I joked, offering a smile up at the former Winter Soldier. He stared down at me with the usual murderous gaze, but nodded in agreement. Even if it didn’t seem like it, Bucky had come a long way since he first showed up on Steve’s
I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).
You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something I'm unaware of, something silently and intimately your own; a secret from the world that makes everything all the more meaningful to you.
- The Passenger
I'm not in the habit of reading post-its from strangers. I found a love-letter hidden in a newspaper once, that the author forgot or was too afraid to send. It made me sad to think
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.