Disclaimer: I don't own anything that will make me money. Sad day.
A/N: I like to ramble. The bits and pieces that fall out of the rambling don't always make sense and usually are obscure. This was another bit that was inspired by a song. Music rocks my world. Hopefully this spewing of thoughts and words will do something for yours.
PS : I seem to be on a drowning kick as of late. Not sure where/what that's manifesting from. Perhaps I should avoid pools for a bit…
One Mo': The song that inspired this is "Heavy in Your Arms" by Florence and the Machine
His heart was heavy to carry. He fought me, step by step, every bit of the way. There was no relenting from him as he dug his heels in and leaned away, using every pound of his person to fight me. But it was a losing battle. He knew I was more relentless than he could ever be, no matter how much he wanted to be the winner of the fight.
Thing is… he didn't want to win.
So I dragged him through the media shite storm. I tugged him through the bullshit fields thrown down and constructed by our friends. I pulled him past the minefields and the endless barrages of hexes maintained by our families. I used every ounce of strength: physical, mental, emotional – and all the while he was so heavy.
At long last we stood at the edge, the lip of the abyss as it spread out glorious and wonderful before us, shining and sparkling like a calm blue sea under the sun's first rays of the day, beckoning, welcoming. I was ready to take the plunge and there he stood at my side, right where I'd carried him to. His heels were dug in but underneath the veneer, I knew he wanted to drown, too.
He was heavy, so heavy. I wrapped him around me, I wrapped myself through him and together we fell into the depths, surrounded and engulfed in the lapping liquid of love. Together we drowned and never has there been a non-death that was so peaceful.
The media didn't understand how to become bored when a story was so tasty, so in your face, so outrageously in demand. But reporters, at long last, understood the plethora of hexes and curses and jinxes I was willing to cast their way. The storm subsided and peace became something of an obtainable dream – it moved into the neighborhood and might some day even become an acquaintance of ours.
Our friends stood by our side, after long and painful months of self-examinations, talks, Floo calls, and shared owls. Others, those we had thought to be friends, turned their backs and walked away. The pain those few caused were iron bands, additions to the weight of my lover. They clamped 'round his ankles and dragged him further down and I, wrapped through his existence, sank happily to the depths with him where we made out amongst the metaphorical shadows and danced with the imaginary sea creatures.
Our families refused to be pressed into a truce with one another. Decades, nay centuries, of hostility demanded the respect its creation deserved… but there was no bloodshed and no malice. The time it took to accomplish that alone was time enough for the stress to set and take on the form of stone – concrete boots to my lover's feet and deeper we were dragged, deeper we were drowned.
I drank the water in same as I drank in the taste, the flavor, of his skin. I breathed the depths we sank to as we fell deeper into each other. Every back turned on us, every harsh word spoke in our direction, was fuel to our fire. We didn't turn from one another we turned to one another and so many refused to see that.
He was heavy, and oftentimes it was my strength alone that dragged us both along. But it was the weights he bore, the weights he carried, that took us so deep into each other; so very deep in love.