"I meant it." His own response comes so quick, unquestioning, unhesitating. Because it's frankly impossible, that Luther could say something about Allison and not mean it with every fiber of his being. "I just meant— I'm sorry, if I shouldn't have said it."
If it hurt to hear. If it was the wrong thing to say.
There's that itching restless urge again, to reach out, capture her hand. Somehow bridge the gap that he's struggling to fill with his words. But there's at least the comforting weight of their shoulders against each other, that constant reminder of each others' presence.
And just then, the record catches in a groove and starts looping, a jagged little scratch-and-repeat and repeat and repeat. Luther reluctantly leaves the bed again, pads over, readjusts the disc and fixes it until it catches on the next Bill Withers song.
( Hello like before / I hope we've grown / 'Cause we were only children then / For laughs, I guess we both can say 'I knew you when' )
This entire album is still incredibly on-the-nose. He was always good at picking them. His shoulders bow over the record player, and then he returns to his spot.
no subject
If it hurt to hear. If it was the wrong thing to say.
There's that itching restless urge again, to reach out, capture her hand. Somehow bridge the gap that he's struggling to fill with his words. But there's at least the comforting weight of their shoulders against each other, that constant reminder of each others' presence.
And just then, the record catches in a groove and starts looping, a jagged little scratch-and-repeat and repeat and repeat. Luther reluctantly leaves the bed again, pads over, readjusts the disc and fixes it until it catches on the next Bill Withers song.
( Hello like before / I hope we've grown / 'Cause we were only children then / For laughs, I guess we both can say 'I knew you when' )
This entire album is still incredibly on-the-nose. He was always good at picking them. His shoulders bow over the record player, and then he returns to his spot.