Disclaimer: I own neither song nor Spring.
A/N: The song is Red Right Ankle by the lovely Decemberists. Ernst, second person (don't hate me). Dialogue at the beginning is all spoken by Hanschen, scattered over time. Please do ignore the & symbols, I couldn't get the desired spacing without them.
-x-
This is the story of your red right ankle
And how it came to meet your leg
And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled
And how the skin was softly shed
And how it whispered, "Oh, adhere to me
"For we are bound by symmetry
"Whatever differences our lives have been
"We together make a limb"
&
"We'll huddle over the Homer. Maybe do a little Achilles and Patroclus?"
"Those bells… So peaceful."
"Follow me. Home."
"Just breathe. It's okay. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to do."
"You're sure?"
"There… There, oh, oh, GOD!"
"Studying, sir. Biology."
"And so you should."
"Wait outside my back door at eleven o'clock tonight. Don't knock, I'll come for you."
"You're here after all."
"Ernst, I'll look for you at ten o'clock."
"I see you as a sort of blessing."
"Nine o'clock tonight. Don't leave me waiting."
"Because you're my first love."
&
This is the story of your red right ankle
&
So this is what love feels like. Pain, bliss, ecstasy, contentment, peace.
&
This is the story of your gypsy uncle
You never knew 'cause he was dead
And how his face was carved and rift with wrinkles
In the picture in your head
And remember how you found the key
To his hideout in the Pyrenees
&
Once, he almost cried in front of you, when you were both sixteen and he told you about his father and his plans to go to Munich once he has saved enough money and enough bravery, and maybe you could go with him. His smile was grand, and your heart really did ache.
&
But you wanted to keep his secret safe
So you threw the key away
&
You couldn't help but notice how he requests your presence less and less, and how he doesn't always wait for you after class now. Really, this only makes you drop your papers as you run to catch up, and, as the sun rises, cling to his bare, sleeping chest with tears in your eyes, as though it will be enough to keep him so close to you once he wakes.
&
This is the story of your gypsy uncle
&
And one day, he was gone.
&
This is the story of the boys who loved you
&
Years pass. He does not return. Your father dies the day before you finish school, and you bake bread for a living.
&
Who love you now and loved you then
&
Eventually, there are others.
Many others.
&
Perhaps you tell yourself that you can't stop living just to wait for him.
Perhaps you get angry.
Perhaps you wish you could go back to that autumn when you were both fifteen and reckless.
Really, there's no "perhaps" at all.
Still, you let Bertrand have you.
&
And some were sweet and some were cold and snuffed you
And some just laid around in bed
&
After Bertrand, it's Johann, then Adelric, Meinhard, Freidrech, Gunther.
&
And some, they crumbled you straight to your knees
Did it cruel, did it tenderly
&
This time, you know to keep your emotions congested in your chest. Still, they sometimes rise to your throat and settle into an awkward lump. Sometimes they nest in your stomach and swim around, fishlike, and other nights they needle into your spine and, with each heartbeat, stretch further into your head and fingertips and toes, and you ache.
&
Some, they crawled their way into your heart
To rend your ventricles apart
&
It pains you to think of Hanschen, even to think his name, but nonetheless, you do it constantly: whether he ever made it to Munich, whether he's regretful or lonely, or if he's already forgotten you altogether.
Ultimately it's this inane curiosity that spurs you to quit your job and take a train to Munich. Your knees shake as the train pulls to a stop.
&
This is the story of the boys who loved you
&
You've thoroughly prepared to spend weeks searching, but after only a blistering hour's worth of walking, it's him. It's him you can't breathe and your heart stops. It's him, and he's standing near the street with a beautiful woman. He smiles a magnificent smile and leans in to kiss her forehead and it's all too sickeningly familiar.
A final embrace before he helps her onto a bus, then she is gone.
A little sadly, he turns and merciful heavens he sees you and his eyes widen comically, but no one is laughing anymore. Hanging in the air between you, you can reach out and touch all that the two of you have shared - each grin, each caress, each whispered word heavy with lust.
A small, shaking step to him, unsteady as a foal, and he blinks hard and fast
&
This is the story of your red right ankle
&
and practically runs away.
A/N: So I'm not at all sure about this one. I think it's a lot different and sort of more melancholy than most of my other stuff, and even the writing process was different; more private, and I spent quite a long time on it. Personally, I'm a sucker for symbolism, so naturally I love symbolism interwoven throughout. Still, I know there are probably thousands of grammatical errors. Sorry, it's not my strong point, though I wish it was. But yes, the switch in tenses midway through was intentional.
I've distracted myself. What I intended to say was, please review honestly. Criticism is helping me, not hurting me. Just don't be rude. I still have feelings. x