(author's note: This is really just a small piece of nothingness. Spike contemplates his relationship with Buffy - if you can call that a relationship - and him being
unworthy of her in every sense of the word.)
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I spit in detest upon the world.
These our streets are filled with trash,
beauty queens, monsters and alike,
but midst all of this hopeless decay, you exist.
Like a lonesome star on a pitch-black sky.
... and you know I'd pull you down from there if I could, right?
I'd just reach out and grab hold of your torn silhouette and never ever let go.
But is it fair to hold such everlasting beauty captive?
Is it fair to keep something so unique to yourself?
I probably don't deserve you, the most unforgettable, most special star up there.
You probably belong in your own world,
among other stars,
and not down here in the dirt with me.
But maybe I could beg of you to hold my hand, just for one second...?
All still beneath the moonlight, surrounded by the trash,
who seek to condemn us, and categorise, and tell us what real love is.
After that, only after that, you can let your fingers and your hands let go of me and go back
to the different universe where you belong.
There you can consume all of the reddest cherries and spit the seeds down
upon the rest of the grey matter that constitutes humanity.
The ones who'd judge us from the outside
when everyone knows that they should judge us for what's inside.
And the only one who can see what's inside me, love... gaze into my heart...
... it's you.