I'm Not A Native Speaker Of Spanish, But A Friend Of Mine Offers The Following Translations:

Smiles I will miss for the rest of my days on Earth.

Should've talked to him sooner, I guess. Before Heaven came and stole him away.

Why did it have to be so complicated to figure it all out?

Why is it always too late?

Just some wonderful smiles ❤️

This diary is going on a short break 'til next week.

The person behind this blog is on a bookfair working very long hours and until I'm back, I'll let Crowley sleep in his beloved Bentley.

Let's all take a moment to savour the irony of a Crowley-coded person selling his books on a bookfair.

Not even at gunpoint and such. 👍😂

Guess, whom I got to meet today! 😍

(Going into hard fanboy mode...)

(Picture of Proof will follow... )

Yours truly in a nutshell. 😈

#just crowley things (aziraphale)

Many, many wonderful Crowleys at Proud Nerd Con! :)

(and one Aziraphale hiding between us.)

Things To Do Today

Drive.

Just drive

Nothing else.

Waking up this morning, I knew instantly that today is a driving day. I've sobered up to get rid of the hangover, but my headache's still there and it's persistent. Should've sobered up yesterday night, but I kinda like the fuzzy head. Keeps me from thinking.

If there's enough pain in my head, I suppose, I won't worry too much about the pain in my heart.

I don't want to go anywhere near the bookshop. I don't, but I need to return the CD to Muriel before it looses its song. Still, I drive around all day to work up the courage.

The song starts five or six times while I'm driving back to Soho. I try to listen, but in the end I always turn it off. My car turns it back on. I turn it back off.

At the horizon, far beyond the end of the road, the sun's going down in a blaze of red and orange. Like the whole world was about to end in fire.

The street lanterns at Whickber Street flicker on as I pass through. The stores are closed at this hour, but there's still light in most of the restaurants and, of course, the pub.

I could go there, have a whiskey. Or I could have a bottle of wine at Marguerite's or a bottle of Tsingtao at Mr & Mrs Chen's place.

No, I can't. It would never be just one glass or one bottle. Wasting yourself on your own is fine, but not in front of people you used know. Not front of people he used to know.

If I was human, I'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere three times over. Being who I am, I know how far I can take this. This may be the worst time, but it is certainly not the first.

It's not even the first time I got my heart ripped out, but last time happened to be a bit more literal.

Do mine eyes deceive me? There's light in the bookshop. No, not in the shop itself, but up in the flat, in the very guest room that Gabriel used to live in when he was Jim.

For a brief moment I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if Aziraphale was still in there. He'd notice I was on my way and open the door for me. And then we'd sit inside and talk about something or other, have a drink or two, and maybe talk some more. He would have a snack and I would watch him eat. He would get excited about something and bounce around and I would listen to the ridiclous sounds coming out of his mouth.

And watch his smile. That beautiful beautiful smile. And everything would just be fine for a few hours.

A familiar silhouette at the window. Muriel is sitting there, probably on the inside sill, their head bent over a book they're holding. They're a fast reader, turning the pages at a quick and steady pace.

I wonder why Muriel didn't take Aziraphale's room. It's bigger than the guest room and it's not like he'll be back anytime soon.

Angels and their faith...

I drop the CD in the letterbox inside the door, trying to avoid any noises. Back on the road, I look up to the window again.

Muriel still seems busy with their book. I hope, they read all the brilliant ones first, then the good ones before moving on to the trash that they inevitably will find.

But then, these humans never can tell the difference. Goethe's Faust was a good book. Marie Corelli's Sorrows of Satan was a brilliant one.

I cross the road and signal for my car to come pick me up. Nina is still inside her closed-for-the-night-coffee shop sitting at a table across Maggie. They're talking to each other and they both look worried.

Time to get out of here. Just as the Bentley speeds around the corner, Maggie spots me and starts waving frantically. Nina looks up, too, her expression a mix and match between a sigh of relief and a death glare.

No. No talk. I don't want to talk to any of you. I did what I came for and now I'm leaving.

Just leave me alone, all of you!

~ * ~

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Absolutely.

I will rise like Phoenix from the ashes... (though not in the way, Shax intended me to.) chrchrchrm....

Despite everything...

I usually sleep through Easter. It's not as bad as Christmas, but still too many people rambling on about 'the-lord-our-saviour' before being cheerfully and positively nasty to each other.

I can only hope, no one puts any Easter cards with "Harry, the rabbit" under my Bentley's wipers.

~ * ~

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Nope, no silly cards under my wipers. But apparently someone left me a Swiss chocolate Easter Bunny.

Two questions, people: 1. Which one of you was it? and 2. Is it poisoned?

Lucky for me, it doesn't even remotely look like Harry the Rabbit.

~ * ~

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I usually sleep through Easter. It's not as bad as Christmas, but still too many people rambling on about 'the-lord-our-saviour' before being cheerfully and positively nasty to each other.

I can only hope, no one puts any Easter cards with "Harry, the rabbit" under my Bentley's wipers.

~ * ~

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Trying to talk to Maggie and to Muriel – Attempt Nr.2

Hi Maggie, please tell Muriel to come over to the record shop, so that I need to say this only once: Stop trying to talk to me, the both of you. Stop sending me notes, stop trying to call me, just stop doing anything about me. I am not your friend and never will be.

There, you have it. Nice and short.

The only problem is, if I put it like that, Maggie will probably cry and Nina will give me her angry face again. And Muriel will look at me with those big brown eyes and think it’s their fault. And perhaps cry, too.

Enough! No more crying. I’m sick of blowing my nose all the time. It gets all red and blotchy. Why do noses always have to run when you cry! Major design flaw if you ask me. But I forgot, you are not asking, @the-almighty-god. You’re just playing your ineffable game. Next time, please play Dungeons & Dragons with us. At least that one has uhm…. dungeons and dragons and elves and Bags of Holding in it. I would quite like a Bag of Holding, then I could’ve kept all of my plants when Hell kicked me out of my flat.

Okay, next try: Hi Maggie and Muriel. I can’t be your friend because I don’t do friendships. Bye.

That one’s so short, I could actually write it on a card. Maybe I should, then I don’t have to talk to them. But Nina was very specific about this one. If you don’t want friends, you have to tell people to go away and you have to do it in person. Writing will not do, texting will not do, and simply going away until they forget about you will not do either. That one least of all.

Nina says, the truth is painful, but at least they’ll have a clean cut and they can start to heal. They can’t when I just leave them hanging. No closure.

Hi Maggie and Muriel. I don’t want to be your friend because I’m scared. Scared that I’ll get hurt when I open up to someone. Scared that you’ll get hurt, when Heaven and Hell start doing their thing again and we all get caught in the crossfire.

No, by ‘the truth’ I didn’t mean ‘that much truth’.

Just the clean cut. The one we never got to have. First, I walked out, then he walked away. We never sorted anything out. Did he leave because he chose Heaven over me? Did he leave because he chose Heaven for me? Did we break up? How can we break up if we aren’t even together? Are we still friends, or is everything over for good?

What does he want with Heaven? Does he truly believe, he can make a difference? Was it just an excuse to get away? Why did he kiss me back and then told me, he forgives me? Did he even listen to anything I said?

Why suddenly dance with me at the ball when he refused to dance with me back in 1941 when I asked him to? Why does he want me to be an angel again? Am I not okay for him the way I am? Does he even want to be “an us”, or did he at least want it before everything went down the drain? Does he still think about me as he is up there, doing God knows what?

Is he thinking of me right now? Perhaps this very moment?

I slam on the brakes and let the Bentley spin to the right, so the car behind me passes by without hitting me. The driver yells something rude, but I’m not listening to him. My mind is full of questions and I can’t answer a single one of them.  

No closure. No clean cut. Just pain.

I can’t heal because I’m left hanging. I can’t move on with my life because I don’t know what’s there to move on to and what there isn't. Is he still a part of this life or is he gone for good?

I’m on hold. I’m on hold like a human on a phone who doesn’t know if they should hang up or if they should wait for the conversation to continue. When Beelzebub came to talk to me about Gabriel, I understood immediately what was going on with them. Why can I not understand what is going on with us?

Again Nina’s words: “But then, other people’s love lives always seem so much more straightforward than our own.”

I start the Bentley’s engine again, but before I can bring my foot down, I freeze.

“Hello, traitor.”

 No literal freezing. Just a jumpscare.

“I was going to pull you down to my new office, as it seems befitting for my new position. But you’re so miserable already, I didn’t want to drag you out of your safe space. Besides, Hell doesn’t need to know about our little talk, do they?”

~*~

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@aziraphalesdiaries @muriel-not-the-dim-one