LYRICS: California Dreaming -- the Mamas and Papas.
TIMELINE: Season 4 Buffy, Season 1 Angel.
SPOILERS: Amends, maybe.
CALIFORNIA DREAMING.
((All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey
I went for a walk on a winter's day))
It's a cold day, they say. I think it must be because all the people of Los Angeles are wearing Prada coats and Armani scarves and gloves from the Gucci collection. And the people that can't afford designer winterwear are shivering in their alleyways, waiting for the clouds to part and for that good ol' LA sunshine to poke through and warm them. Me, I love the overcast days. Partly because they're so few and far between, but mainly because it means I can venture outside during the day without getting burned. Winter is on it's way, and I can't say that's a time I particularly enjoy. It brings to mind the year I tried to kill myself. Well, the year I tried to destroy myself, anyway. Buffy saved me that year. I'll never forget it.
((I'd be safe and warm if I was in LA
California dreamin' on such a winter's day))
I dreamed about Buffy yesterday and I wasn't even asleep. I just closed my eyes and she was standing there, same old Buffy. I opened my eyes and she wasn't there, and when I closed them again, she was kissing Riley. I tried my best not to blink again for a while, but I had to eventually, and when I did, Buffy had gone. And I realised then how it felt to be on the other end of us parting; her running from me instead of me doing the running. I realised how much I hurt her.
But I realised too late, because I can't go back to Sunnydale now. Not now she's with Riley. That jerk. She could do so much better. But then I would never like anyone she fell in love with if it wasn't me. Maybe I'm the jerk.
((I stopped into a church I passed along the way
Well I got down on my knees and I began to pray))
Churches do burn the worst. Holy water, crosses, sacred ground, all those bodies of people whose souls are at rest on some higher plane. My soul, still trapped inside this undead body. I'm never going to be buried in a graveyard. My soul is never going to rest on a higher plane. All my friends are going to die and I'll still be here. Never grow old. Never die. Never really grow close to anyone and *definitely* never feel one moment of pure happiness. What a way to exist. Praying's a no-no too. No point asking anyone upstairs for forgiveness after the things I've done. Even as a mortal I wasn't a candidate for the Pearly Gates. Maybe I should just mingle into this crowd of designer clad people and disappear forever. I'm never going to make anything of myself. In the end I'm going to end up exactly like every other vampire: a pile of ash, distributed on the wind, forgotten. Cordelia, Gunn, Wesley. Buffy. Sooner or later, they would all forget.
((If I didn't tell her I could leave today
California dreamin' on such a winter's day))
When they're all dead. Would I go back to Drusilla and Spike? Be Angelus? It was always easier. Easier to be carefree Angelus than tortured Angel. Of course, being tortured Angel has kept me off the sharp end of a stake longer than carefree Angelus ever would, but I don't know. When the mortals I know are gone, could I survive alone? When Buffy's dead, would I want to?
When Buffy's dead. It could be any day. She is the Slayer. It's not like she never puts herself in the position. What will I do when Buffy's dead? Will I carry on? Will I pretend I never cared for her, that she never existed? Would I become evil? Because what good is a soul when there's no one to love? And will there ever be anyone else?
Will I ever know?
I turn and head back to the office. The safety of not knowing is sometimes just too tempting to resist.
((On such a winter's day))
TIMELINE: Season 4 Buffy, Season 1 Angel.
SPOILERS: Amends, maybe.
CALIFORNIA DREAMING.
((All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey
I went for a walk on a winter's day))
It's a cold day, they say. I think it must be because all the people of Los Angeles are wearing Prada coats and Armani scarves and gloves from the Gucci collection. And the people that can't afford designer winterwear are shivering in their alleyways, waiting for the clouds to part and for that good ol' LA sunshine to poke through and warm them. Me, I love the overcast days. Partly because they're so few and far between, but mainly because it means I can venture outside during the day without getting burned. Winter is on it's way, and I can't say that's a time I particularly enjoy. It brings to mind the year I tried to kill myself. Well, the year I tried to destroy myself, anyway. Buffy saved me that year. I'll never forget it.
((I'd be safe and warm if I was in LA
California dreamin' on such a winter's day))
I dreamed about Buffy yesterday and I wasn't even asleep. I just closed my eyes and she was standing there, same old Buffy. I opened my eyes and she wasn't there, and when I closed them again, she was kissing Riley. I tried my best not to blink again for a while, but I had to eventually, and when I did, Buffy had gone. And I realised then how it felt to be on the other end of us parting; her running from me instead of me doing the running. I realised how much I hurt her.
But I realised too late, because I can't go back to Sunnydale now. Not now she's with Riley. That jerk. She could do so much better. But then I would never like anyone she fell in love with if it wasn't me. Maybe I'm the jerk.
((I stopped into a church I passed along the way
Well I got down on my knees and I began to pray))
Churches do burn the worst. Holy water, crosses, sacred ground, all those bodies of people whose souls are at rest on some higher plane. My soul, still trapped inside this undead body. I'm never going to be buried in a graveyard. My soul is never going to rest on a higher plane. All my friends are going to die and I'll still be here. Never grow old. Never die. Never really grow close to anyone and *definitely* never feel one moment of pure happiness. What a way to exist. Praying's a no-no too. No point asking anyone upstairs for forgiveness after the things I've done. Even as a mortal I wasn't a candidate for the Pearly Gates. Maybe I should just mingle into this crowd of designer clad people and disappear forever. I'm never going to make anything of myself. In the end I'm going to end up exactly like every other vampire: a pile of ash, distributed on the wind, forgotten. Cordelia, Gunn, Wesley. Buffy. Sooner or later, they would all forget.
((If I didn't tell her I could leave today
California dreamin' on such a winter's day))
When they're all dead. Would I go back to Drusilla and Spike? Be Angelus? It was always easier. Easier to be carefree Angelus than tortured Angel. Of course, being tortured Angel has kept me off the sharp end of a stake longer than carefree Angelus ever would, but I don't know. When the mortals I know are gone, could I survive alone? When Buffy's dead, would I want to?
When Buffy's dead. It could be any day. She is the Slayer. It's not like she never puts herself in the position. What will I do when Buffy's dead? Will I carry on? Will I pretend I never cared for her, that she never existed? Would I become evil? Because what good is a soul when there's no one to love? And will there ever be anyone else?
Will I ever know?
I turn and head back to the office. The safety of not knowing is sometimes just too tempting to resist.
((On such a winter's day))