Chapter 1 : what is love and love is what?
| ||Rating: 12+||Chapter Reviews: 21|
Background: Font color:
Dedicated to Gubby (GubraithianFire) and Rachelle (PenguinsWillReignSupreme). They both patiently revised my writing whenever I asked and were always wonderful and encouraging. I really can’t thank you guys enough! The prompt which inspired this story was from Rita (llyralen) and was based on the movie Sliding Doors. Thank you so much, Rita!
I hope you like it. Please don’t forget to review!
- xoxo -
He watches her fly here, there, away, away. After all, he loves her.
“Go!” he says. (She falls, she flies.)
The small, leather book she clutches drops, forever now a child of the lavender. Her pale hands flutter. (Such sweet and somber wings, he thinks.)
The lavender field ripples softly around them, the winds drawing circles into the flowers. It begins with her and ends with her, as it always does. Her bare feet rest on the dirt and he cannot help but smile, because after everything, she is still Rose of roses and he her Teddy of teddies. The sky is the lightest periwinkle and soon, the moon will rise and bring with it the dreams of angels and sinners alike. He looks into her eyes, her plain brown eyes and thinks there is no poetry that is not or has not been there once. He thinks of all the times she has kissed him, her lips blooming into a smile, pulling his own upward.
She stops, her poetry-eyes home to no muse, her blooming-lips parting, sunrises opening, glorious beginnings, glorious endings. “Teddy?” she asks him, doubtful, and there is nothing that is not or has not been more beautiful, broken his heart more, sent it spinning to faded tears of yesterday or to the sunlit promise of tomorrow or to today, to today which is and will be. She is golden and he, gilded, and she, silver and he a sliver.
“Just go,” he says simply and just live and just be so much more. For every tear she will now shed, she will smile a thousand times more, live a thousand times longer.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, only momentarily breathless, her breath less than his own, her heart beating, her beaten heart more broken than his, her heart beating, not believing.
“You want this, Rose. I know you do.”
“You’re leaving me?” Her voice carries to him, rain upon stones. Another wind passes them, whirling into the endless fields beyond. He studies her pallid features. She sounds surprised, but her eyes narrow in suspicion. She wants to laugh and laugh. (She thinks he is joking.)
She dreams, he knows. She dreams of many things. She dreams of angels and sinners, of moons born over rice paddies, of river lilies, of children with bright blue eyes, of the place where the skies and treetops finally meet. She speaks of him and lives for him, but she does not dream of him. And she does not dream of lavender fields or leather books or summers spent under streetlights. She does not dream of her mother always watching, her father always telling, the world always speaking for her. She does not dream of roses or Roses as he does.
“I want to end things today. Goodbye, Rose.” He says, and he watches her brown eyes, brown like the swirling brown of chocolate and he does it for her dreams, he tells himself, for her dreams and for all the things she could have.
She smiles weakly. (She thinks he is joking.) Her brown hair whips into her face, into her eyes and she cannot see and she cannot see.
Silence. (Why is the world so empty?)
He breaks it. (He breaks it.) “I’m sorry. I – I really am. Now, please, just leave.”
Silence. (Why is the world so quiet?)
“I want to stay here. With you,” she says, her eyes sparkling, and what are fountains or waterfalls or oceans to her eyes? “I’m staying here. Maybe sometimes I want to go – maybe I want to be someone else sometimes. But, I don’t need to as long as I’m with you.” (As long as I’m with you, as long as I’m with you, as long as I’m with you. The words roll and roll and roll.)
“You could leave, though.” He looks away, not willing himself to look into her eyes as he speaks. “Right now. You could get up and leave. Nobody would know. And I wouldn’t tell anyone. Isn’t that what you want?”
He watches her through the lavender that clings around her and he asks, he wonders, he ponders. He wonders at pondering and ponders wondering and what is love, love is what? What is love if not sacrifice?
She tells him she loves him. She the sky, he the fence. She the song, he the melody. She, the leaves which bathe in the light, and he, the roots, shielded in the darkness.
There is eternal promise that shines through her, breathable sunshine, the sky of the sky, the wings of wings, the springs of springs. She is the light of the light, she is what sleeping butterflies dream of and what songbirds sing of. She dreams of angels and sinners, of moons born over rice paddies, of river lilies, of children with bright blue eyes. She dreams of the place where the skies and treetops which yearn for the heavens finally meet.
She looks into his eyes and she thinks that it is like the horizon, the skyline, the place that is her place. (She thinks, she tells him, and he marvels at her thinking and at her thoughts and at all the things that she ever thought to bring her there. She thinks.) He looks into her eyes, the ocean of all oceans and he sees the faint remnants of daydreams still swirling. He wonders if she feels anything.
He looks into her eyes and he knows.
Please begin at this point and read this story back up. I swear there is a purpose to it. A bit confusing and unorthodox, but you might find something you like. ;)
Dedicated to both Gubby (GubraithianFire) and Rachelle (PenguinsWillReignSupreme), for always patiently revising my writing and for constantly encouraging me. I really can’t thank you guys enough! The prompt which inspired this story was from Rita (llyralen) and was based on the movie Sliding Doors. Thank you so much, Rita!
I hope you like it. Please don’t forget to review!
- xoxo -
Other Similar Stories
This Is Not ...
A Moment Lik...