Bloom away darling

(like petals dancing in the northern wind)

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

Warnings: Edward may sound a bit whining in this. I think I failed getting the real emotion in this. So if you don't like this one-sided whining, I suggest you don't read this :) Thank you if you do though!

onesided Edward/Bella, Jacob/Bella

Hi Bella! How are you? I really hope you're well.

Well, I… fine, verily sounding like the overprotective (exaggerated) stalker I probably am (when it comes to you), I don't want you to be sad. I never wanted that. Seeing you cry, seeing those transparent pearls roll down your cheek prettier than porcelain only makes me fall down the hill and wonder if I ever will be the right one for you.

Alright, I know I am.

(Not.)

I want but can't. I always wonder when you stopped trust me. Not that you don't have right to, after all, I pulled the knife (figuratively) through your ribs and made you bleed. I painted the red, red prochain love with black. Black. I removed your dreams, your hope.

(I killed you.)

And it doesn't matter if I say that I'm sorry. It's too late, isn't it?

I hate that word.

It's too late. Who is deciding what or whom is too late? Isn't time going to heal all wounds? Not remove them, not veil them, but heal? To where it is makeable? Really, isn't it?

- No.

It's just too late. I know it.

Bella. Bella, Bella, Bella. I never get tired from using that name. It clings, it rolls, it sounds like a sweet, delicate flower dancing in the hidden meadow covered by shadows. Okay, I can really see your rolling eyes right now. It was a bad metaphor. I guess I don't use them as frequency anymore. They were for you. But when you left all inspiration died with it.

Died. Rot and died.

I remember you so well. Do you understand that? Every time I close my eyes, despite how corny it sounds, I see you. See the one you were and the one you are. See your brown, chocolate eyes with that warm essence that makes me smile, smile, smile, surrounded by thick eyelashes, enhancing them till I don't see anything else. I can drown in them. Drown. But not only that; your eyes are like portals, transparent, bibulously portals that's the only way for me to read you.

When I shut my eyes I see them. When I shut my eyes I know what I've lost.

"You're so pretty."

And still, you simply laughed it off, I hear my sentence fade away and turn to white dust and you pulled your arms around my waist and lifted me to the white nimbuses with your words genuine and stunning and true.

"Well, I must be because you keep saying that, Edward."

My fingers bleed. My eyes bleed. Everything bleeds. And the movie moves on, stringing along on the road, I recall this scene perfectly. Remember. Remember when you pressed your soft, wet lips on the thin fabric of my shirt, those lips reminding me of honey, sweet, distill honey.

If I've been human I would have cried.

When you smile everything seems to lift, to erase, to vanish. Isn't that something? I'm sure it is. I know about love, I know that it can bloom and it can die, but this is more, more, more than love.

It's a lifestyle.

"Edward, promise me that you would never leave me."

I did.

"Don't leave me again. Please stay with me. Don't leave, Edward."

I didn't.

- You left me.

I wonder, do you even read my letters? Because I understand if you don't. I mean, I'm only linger in the past right now, linger and linger since it feels easier than to move on. I should move on but like you said – some things are ingrained in my mind, I do them by habit.

Bella, I've said this before and it's worth repeating; I only want you to be happy. To smile.

Do you smile right now? Do you walk in your garden while the blades touch your bare legs, hair falling like chocolate-curls, smiling? I don't know.

I never know.

(That's the only thing I'm good at.)

And really, if you're happy (that I'm assuming you are) then why can't I accept it? Why can't I move on? I can't wander around like this. The hole, empty, festering hole only increases and I find myself sitting here in front of my desk –coughing thick lawyer– and write this letters to you. Does that assume that I've too much spare-time?

It does.

Love burns, you know that? It burns, it taints, it kills. At least when it looks like this. When you find yourself staring at the most beautiful drawing painted by my two hands but the colors is lost. All is painted in gray, white and black. And it's still beautiful. But it doesn't represent anything.

Like me. Like us.

Because 'us' doesn't exist.

Not like I wish it would.

Bella, if you find my letter intruding, can you at least tell me that? Can you tell me anything? I know you're not mine anymore (if you ever were) but I still see you as a friend.

Well 'friend'. Sarcastic air quotes. You will never be a friend to me. It's not enough.

(Not enough.)

But still, I don't want you to disappear. Masquerade away like thin raindrops crashing the ground. I don't want that. Don't, don't want that. I want you to be real. Want you to be here.

(With me.)

Well, I guess I should tell you something more interesting. Er… Well, you know that Esme has started a restaurant here in Forks, located near the school? It's wonderful. She has such a way with cooking; she can make a stone with moss look intriguing. Of course I haven't tasted it (food has a tendency to just grow and grow in my throat) but it looks good. It's good for her to socialite more; I guess we vampires are stuck in our own personal bubble where no one can reach us.

(No one wants to reach us.)

But much have changed. I'm glad for that. Rosalie and Emmett are happy. Alice and Jasper are happy. Carlisle and Esme are happy.

And I'm the exception, the one that sits in the sofa leaned on the back and smiles, smiles, smiles and tells everyone that I'm okay, I'm fine.

I don't want Bella anymore.

And it feels better to lie. Because I don't want those glares, those silent, stone-faces that wait at the train-station for the train that doesn't exist. So I pretend. I lie.

And it feels better.

It's like a ghost. It's there but I forget about it. And when I forget it doesn't hurt. It isn't there.

But then it comes back. And I'm back. At the beginning.

And I will never reach the goal.

Since the goal doesn't exist.

Bella, what are you doing right now? Studying? You're so polite and know what you want.

At least at that apartment.

It's different when it comes to love.

Do you like college? Do you like your biology classes, gazing into the microscope, noticing life in the smallest proportions? I think you do. It's fascinating. Oh, I remember one of your first classes when you complained about the blurriness of the visage, which is a rather common plaint when you're not used to the instruments.

"I don't see anything Edward!" Your lips strictly pointing down; flustered cheeks on the originally vanilla painting.

"Well, you have to turn the knob to cancel the visage," I said; chin resting on my two hands, the glee hidden behind the letters.

"How come you always make me feel stupid," you mumbled, a hand trough your beautifully chocolate-curls, falling like a river down your shoulders. Roses danced over your cheeks, circulated as you bit your lips and continued to analyze the bacteria in the microscope.

I smiled. Smiled. Smiled.

(Smiled.)

You were entertaining. Sometimes (always) more entertaining than the classes. Your smiles, your temperament, your sweet shyness in school and totally changed personality when we came home. I can't live without it. You mean so much to me, like everything circled around you. I didn't need anything else. It was so deep, so emotional, so true and so binding.

I only needed you. I only need you.

(I made a mistake when I left you.

The problem is that it still changed everything.)

Edward Cullen.

Jacob Black.

Bella Cullen.

Bella Black.

Isabella Swan.

Bella Swan.

Isabella Cul-

The tip breaks and falls of the paper, the last –len- falls in the sea of oblivion.

Maybe that's a sign. It probably is since you're not Isabella Cullen or Bella Cullen or whatever; you're Bella but you're not with me.

You're with him.

Jacob.

Jacob. No words can explain how much I loathe that name.

I'm sorry, Bella. I shouldn't write such things. Jacob is probably a good person. Warm and determinate. You like him, I really see that. The cover in front of your eyes slowly erases when you look at him, your laugh is loud and raspy and true. I can't elicit that laugh. It's impossible.

And I'm jealous.

Every letter is drenched in jealousy, because that feels better than hate and despair and longing for the only thing I want (and can't have.)

With him you smile. With me you burn to ashes and fall down the hole to Neverland.

That's how it is.

That's fact.

That's how it is.

I'm jealous.

I don't want to be him. But I want to be with you.

Bella, I remember the wedding. It was beautiful. Of course I can tell you a lot of other impression but I'm gonna skip that – you don't need me to ruin the perfect, perfect picture of the pretty princess marrying the knight in shining armor.

Not that 'knight in shining armor' suits Jacob; there is nothing archaic about him. He's there and he's present.

At first, I didn't want to attend; you have to understand me here, Bella, I wanted you to be happy and have a perfect marriage but I couldn't see what I so fatuously had lost (right in front of my eyes) but Alice forced me to go. She said with that flame in her eyes that's more frightening than a dragoon with tree heads that "Bella is a part of the family and I respect her decision." She really likes you, Bella and only wants the best of you. She misses you. And I knew that she was right. It was easier. Humans and vampires would never mix and turn you and change your life forever didn't roll well on anybody's tongue. You're Bella. And we want you to be Bella.

Bella.

You walked down the altar with pink, pink amaryllises in your hands, with your hair in a high, rather messy ponytail that softened your otherwise rather rigid face. The dress swiped down the floor and the dull light from the windows reflected your eyes. It was a wonderful dress, too simple to be one of Alice's creations. It was slim around the waist and wide at the hem which was a contradiction to your usually floppy shirts. With your right arm circled around Jacob's and a smile brighter than the sun you stopped in front of the priest, the sound of your high heels stopped.

You were so happy. I had never seen you like that before. It was genuinely and absolutely wonderful.

You couldn't be that happy with me.

I don't remember what Jacob wore and that isn't important. You are important.

And happy.

My gaze froze and the hole inside grew; the bad conscience came over the surface – why couldn't I make you happy, why didn't you smile like that when you approached me? I wanted to know but I knew that there were no answers.

Love is cruel.

The words the priest said disappeared and died before they reached me, I heard nothing as my head circulated and the cold hand hugged my chest. I wanted the hand to go away. But it didn't. Not when you stood there and smiled (but not at me) and when the priest asked you if you wanted to be Jacob's wife.

"I do."

I didn't hear it. Didn't want to hear it. It pained, it hurt, it killed. The hand hugged tighter.

Why must love destroy everything? Why can't I forget, move on, understand that you're happy with someone else?

I don't know.

Bella. I miss you. Come back.

Why do I keep writing these things? It doesn't matter. You're still with Jacob and not with me.

But I wonder –I know I shouldn't write this- but when I left you, when I told you that I didn't love you, did you start to doubt me? Did I hurt you so much that you started trust Jacob more than me?

You don't have to answer.

I already know.

Yes you did.

It was always me or Jacob. You couldn't have both.

And you made the right decision.

But not for me.

This is torture. This is hell.

This is nothing. Faithless.

And foolish.

I linger and wish but I wish that I could fly with chipped wings. You can't. I wish for the eternity to end because an eternity with you is like a broken crayon – it's useless and dull. I can't use the crayon. I know I can't leave, I know I can't escape. My family is there for me. They've given me so much, they've risen me up from the sea. I can't betray them.

But I betray them by lingering to the delusion like this.

I know.

But hey, let me tell you something funny. Heh, I guess you didn't (if you read this) saw that coming. Me? Funny? What a joke.

Joke. Joke.

Anyway, let me tell you about the lives of the Cullens.

Carlisle has moved to United States for a class in more advanced medial curing. He briefly told me about it but I guess I don't remember the details, but this means that he will come back as a more qualified (if he wasn't that before he left) doctor. It's interesting. I think it's good for him to leave, to gain some space – I think everything that has occurred in front of our eyes removed him from the sphere he has been in for so long.

Esme is doing great at the restaurant and when she's not there, dazzling the guest with her bright, caring smile she's home and writes a book. I don't really know what it is about since she doesn't want to talk about it but I'm rather sure it about us.

Us. That that happened.

She isn't that great with words, you know, when you can just blind the reader with emotions and well-structured sentences, but she's moderate and she has the ability to capture the reader, it's not beautiful and stunning but it's captivating. And she has time to do this, not rush anything.

I admire her for that. She can play with time. Time (or rather the supply of it) doesn't scare her like it scares me.

Alice is starting a society in school (I guess she doesn't need to stick in the 'Cullen-bubble' anymore), about fashion. Otherwise, she's rather moody – she doesn't smile that much and I often capture Jasper at her side, trying to drag out the problem, in vain. Her eyes look sad. I wonder if she misses you. Or if it's more about me. But she tries to solve the last one by entertaining me with shopping-rounds (that if something doesn't work) and telling me jokes but it doesn't work to pull a sheet over a bleeding hole. I love that she tries though. She's a wonderful person.

Emmett is actually the one that cheers me up the most, probably because he doesn't think about it. I like his rash behaviors and sudden ideas like watching baseball (it's sure are boring watching humans run around the stadium like ants) and hunting. He stops my train of thoughts before they run over the cliff and I appreciate him for that. Appreciate it more than I can ever explain.

I haven't seen Rosalie for quite some time and I haven't bothered asking where she is. And when she's home she acts like an upper-class. Grieving isn't something for her. The perfect woman. I don't really care about her opinions; she's very hard to get close since she tends to shove me away.

And Jasper. He's definitely the most distant one. This is probably due to two reasons – first, he had big problems accepting you as one of the family. Nothing personal I think, only the fact that you were human and vulnerable and couldn't fit with us.

You couldn't. I wanted.

And he's worried about Alice. But there is nothing he can do about this. You won't come back. You never will. He can only be there, rising her up as she falls, trying to crack those solid lips in a smile.

All of this because of me. All of this because of us.

I'm pathetic.

But we miss you. You have to believe that.

"It's not the same when Bella is not around," Alice says.

"Since the day she ditched you it's like you're stuck in the mud," Emmett mutters.

"Longing for a human girl, pathetic," Rosalie snorts.

Jasper says nothing. He doesn't need to.

Everybody knows. I have to forget. To move on.

But it's hard reaching the top of a mountain that doesn't exist.

It's impossible.

Bella. Answer me. Talk to me. You don't have to come back. I only want to hear from you.

Because I lov-

Because that would be nice.

Can't you do that for me? Only that?

Is that too much to ask?

It is.

You're so pretty. You're a princess. An angel. An angel surrounded by darkness, that doesn't understand that there are monsters in this world. You don't understand that you have such a high impact on people around you, that so many can love you. You don't understand that you're creating anger and despair by ignoring that people cares for you.

You don't understand that I'm angry.

Angry because you didn't choose me.

I know it was me or him.

And I regret what I didn't give you what you deserved. I didn't make you trust me.

Because you loved me. I know.

But you didn't trust me. You trusted Jacob. That's why you chose him.

You chose him.

And I'm left knowing that I will never love anyone like I love you.

Bella. I love you. I love you.

Edward. I'm sorry.

But sometimes sorry isn't enough. I can't give you what you want.

Please stop send me letters. It's cutting through me like knives.

Please stop.

I love you but not in the same way.

I love Jacob.

Bella. Remember when I told you that I only wanted you to be happy.

It was a lie.

I wanted (want) you to be happy.

(With me.)

Bella:

She thought that the worst was to love him. But she now knows that isn't true.

This is worse. He loves her. She can't give it back.

It's worse.

And when he suddenly stops writing letter she wonders if he has moved on.

She doubts. He isn't the one to forget.

And slowly, as she realizes that he will be stuck with this forever, tears roll from her eyes.

And breaks. But this will never break. And she hates it. Hates it.

fin