texts texts texts

[onefellswoop]

this one is for texts!

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2/?

[citrinesupernova]

Goes without saying I’d warrant that there’ll be more to follow. Fuck me’ve I got words and thoughts, words and worlds of feeling for you yourself, my Talik, my boyfriend, the only orbit I’d ask for or adhere to.

Just now, got some pics to send. The crew sends their regards, aye, and their thanks for the drinks. Haven’t had a night like this in an age, that’s sure, and sure as well there’s plenty needed it.

You’ve got their fondness, Talik. I’d say you’ve got my own, only that’s given at this point, and anyways pics’ll show more than I’ve words to put just now.

We’re getting your Sergiy back. We’re getting your self back. That’s all certain and set upon.

Have to bring you meeting all this group sometime, I’ll cover drinks thereabouts aye. Aye and ftr, you may know myself as still reeling entire from those messages of yours, that last and every other.

And chrissake let it be known you’ve no trouble texting in least, or at the least your message’s got no trouble speaking through.

[ A series of photographs follows, post-rehearsal musicians in varying levels of intoxication and exuberance, many of them toasting the camera, some giving a thumbs up or an ‘ok’ sign.

With every image, Nova sends a brief caption offering names and instruments played, sometimes with brief highlights regarding the figures involved, sometimes with transcripts of whatever was being said at the time or with messages from those pictured to Vitaly, thanks for his largesse or/and luck with his endeavors or/and entreaties to take care of their Nova hey.

Most of the pictures were taken in haste, figures blurred in the background, some of the musicians themselves not quite held in focus. The pub around is clearly busy, and the atmosphere looks nothing short of celebratory.

Among the pictures are several including Nova, most of these taken and passed along to Nova by other members of the group. In one, he has his arms slung along a man and woman, all of them engaged in singing the chorus to an unnoted song. In another, he’s leaning precariously back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling, grinning wide. Another shows him staring at his phone, eyes wide, smile speaking at once surprise, approbation, and anticipation. In this picture, there’s a flush to his cheeks, his hand’s caught halfway to his face - as if he’d intended to cover his mouth or rubs his jaw and been arrested partway through the motion - and he seems to have forgotten precisely how to breathe. With this picture, the caption reads simply, ’One of em caught me reading your message, aye you know which one. Not going to pretend there weren’t a few whistles following that. No pretending either they weren’t right to do so, nor that I didn’t half appreciate it. Sayin it again, Talik, you’re a marvel of a man, is what you are.’

The final picture of Nova, and the final image sent for the moment, is a selfie. Him with his chin propped on the knuckle of one folded hand, smile fond, expression still a mingling of stricken and smitten. The fingers of his hand are extended slightly, as if in the beginning of a wave, and his eyes are fixed on the camera, seeking Vitaly. The caption here reads, ’Thinking of you, now and always, christ alive.’ ]