Author's note: Another piece of serious writing. I'm on the roll at the moment so I've been writing fic after fic as soon as I get the inkling of an idea. I wonder whether that's a good or bad thing? There can never be too many RayNeela fics in my opinion. I don't know whether Ray would actually be thinking such deep thoughts, but I'm ready to give our beloved rocker the benefit of the doubt! It's so strange how I'm in the mode for this kind of stuff at the moment. Hehe. Much love to all my reviewers. I'm writing these stories for the pleasure of you, the readers, so I'm happy to see you like them, it encourages me to keep on going. But don't hesitate to give me some constructive feedback if I deserve it. Enjoy!
(Sorry about the long AN's, I guess I am just a little wordy! )
He walks the streets, imagining that every dimunitive brunette with dark skin that passes him by is her. Her, but not her. Someone who could draw his attention in all the ways she had, just not her. Not the person who already belonged to someone else. Not the person he couldn't have. Someone like her, but it couldn't be her.
What did he have left but his dreams? And even they were pointless compared to what he was losing - had lost.
Even as someone rudely knocks into him as they hurriedly rush past, he cannot care. Nothing was real anymore. Nothing but the startling truth. She was his now, and there was nothing that could change that. It was official. Down to the matching gold of their rings.
Why should he care? Throughout his entire existence he'd worn a devil-may-care smile on his face, moved on from girl to girl, never phased by the glimmerings of emotion that he barely felt. But now, why was it all so different? Because suddenly, for once in his life, he felt like a part of him was slowly dying. And somehow he just knew it was his heart.
This was where the pain was bringing him. He couldn't even stand to be in the same place with the one he loved - the same person putting him through another kind of hell. So he walks, aimlessly, in the dark, almost not caring what would become of him if he strayed too far.
There was the fear that looking into those brown eyes of hers would bring him past the point of no return. He imagines how he would break down and confess and then maybe all would be lost. Even if her presence hurt him in more ways than he could count, it was a beautiful kind of torture. And one he could never live without.
To watch her day by day, working through her struggles, her fierce determination etched in the lines on her forehead as she frowned. The beautiful expression of compassion on her features as she soothed or comforted. The fire in her eyes when she was angered and that unreadable light in her eyes as she spoke excitedly or joked with him.
Sometimes, in those rare moments, he feels the flicker of hope a drowning man may as he watches a light linger barely inches away, just above the surface. A feeble hope, a fool's hope, but he holds onto it like it's his last lifeline.
And he goes through the motions. Holding up a mask that he knows will one day break away to uncover the vulnerability underneath. And those knowing eyes seem to already sense a slip in the facade. Everyday he returns, and everyday he sees the concern. The blessed concern that he knows will never be in the way he desires it to be.
Everyday she asks him, and everyday he is almost tempted to tell her. But not today, and not tomorrow. Maybe never.
So he walks the streets. Looking for her, but not her. Someone just like her. But never her.