Bad feelings are one part of what sucks about this world. Good feelings are the other. Because the good stuff is what can get taken from you, the rug that gets pulled out from under you. A warming feeling that, once it's gone, leaves you out in the...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
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M E G A N
Things in my life have finally managed to turn themselves back around.
It's more-so the universe's accomplishment than it is mine, as I sure haven't been the one to re-establish all the relationships I'd lost during the few months following Carl's injury.
Ever since a few nights ago—when I changed Carl's bandage—I've finally come to terms with letting myself accept the good things that the world has to offer me. It's something that I simply have to do, in order to enjoy whatever amount of time I have left on this earth.
Despite the fact that I now live in a state of near-permanent scurry, trying to stay out of its ruins.
After that night, my next step to reclaiming my life was to give Enid the information that she said she wanted. I'd avoided the girl for months, and my only opportunity to call a truce with her, came along with Carl's return into my life, right when he stepped foot in that infirmary.
Enid was pretty enthused to hear the story of how we made up. She was really happy for the both of us, and quite entertained by our dramatic antics.
After I told her the continuation of the shit-show, she convinced me to stop by the Rhee household for a family dinner. I was a bit apprehensive at first, because the thought of having to face members of my group was terrifying. But Enid—being Enid—convinced me that it would be fine.
And it was fine, until she and Maggie stepped out to grab some pickles from the pantry. The woman had a hankering for them for some odd, immediate reason.
Which—as of now—leaves Glenn and I awkwardly standing in the Rhee's kitchen. Nothing yet to say as we both know what the other is thinking about. We both silently ponder the last time we spoke, aside from when I had to treat his wounds from the aftermath of that horde.
The silence between the awkward grown man and I, —I now realize—is obsolete, as Rick is now well aware of what Carl and I did, and it's been months since I've had to deal with the aftermath.
None of said aftermath ever came from Rick, himself—only from his son and I arguing—as the man didn't really see a point in rehashing the past. Especially when our present—at the time—was spent dealing with the massive horde that pound at our walls.
