Disclaimer: Joss owns it. He wrote the scene that inspired it. All hail Whedon.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. -F. Nietzsche
Something's burning. I can smell it, filling the air around me like little black-winged butterflies, the smoke curling its fingers out to clutch at my throat, drag me down where I belong. Nothing like the scent of slowly smoldering skin...and somewhere in here I know it's me. My flesh. My heart. My soul. Burning until there's nothing left but a soupy mixture of ashes and tears seeping between the cracks in the floor. Then, maybe I can rest. Maybe she can rest. Maybe our timeless dance will finally end, and she can smile her little smile knowing she finally bested me. Fact of the matter is, I lost a long time ago - the first time I saw her. So fierce. So proud. Dancing her golden dance amongst the sheep.
Forgiveness. I've no right to ask for it. But I love her, still, after all of this, and I can't help myself. Wetness on my cheeks, rivers of it, bright and stinging against the marks on my face and my knees give way beneath me. I hear her leave without a word, the heels of her boots clattering noisily against broken wood and stone. Should have known better. She never could handle things like this. And all my guilt, my sorrow, my shame spilled out in the filthy darkness with no one to hear it. I know she thinks it's all about her. The world works that way in her head, all of us just paltry players spinning our wheels in the earth around her. But no, this is about me...that terrible ache eating me up inside, leaving me empty. The need to be better. To be a man. To be something other than the monster that left his thumbs imprinted on the tender flesh of her thighs. The need for love. Her love.
And now, the pieces are all scattered and I've no picture to go by...no sodding map to help me put things in the right place. The one thing that mattered, the one thing I always lacked...the thing that should have made me fit sent them all flying. Like so much dust in the wind. Now I know why she ran from me. Why she's still running. And why our twisted tango will never end. I want her to believe in me, to see me in all my pain and glorious folly. I want her to know now that I finally understand.
It was the dance that broke us...both of us. The ever-thrumming tympani of hunger, need, death and desperation driving us to destruction. Ripping out the seams where we had sewn the mangled bits of our hearts back together. Mine bloody and beaten from her death. Hers from the resurrection. So lost we'd do anything just to have something real, something solid, something substantial. Something to fill up the hollow places inside.
My love for her is madness. Even in the most fractured recesses of my mind, I know it. Knew it then, but it didn't stop my willing tumble into her deadly grip. Didn't even make me pause before I claimed those luscious lips with mine. And it was my hope that left me naked before her sharp-tongued barbs. The unwitting faith I had in my ability to charm her, bend her to my will. But she has never been one to be bent. So we danced. Circling each other, creating this dark disaster of flesh, blood, and bone. Our own personal hell shattering us into slivers.
And so, I get to start again, if ever the flames subside...if ever the screams in my head find their peace. Try to become what she needs. Because if nothing else, it's what she deserves.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. -F. Nietzsche
Something's burning. I can smell it, filling the air around me like little black-winged butterflies, the smoke curling its fingers out to clutch at my throat, drag me down where I belong. Nothing like the scent of slowly smoldering skin...and somewhere in here I know it's me. My flesh. My heart. My soul. Burning until there's nothing left but a soupy mixture of ashes and tears seeping between the cracks in the floor. Then, maybe I can rest. Maybe she can rest. Maybe our timeless dance will finally end, and she can smile her little smile knowing she finally bested me. Fact of the matter is, I lost a long time ago - the first time I saw her. So fierce. So proud. Dancing her golden dance amongst the sheep.
Forgiveness. I've no right to ask for it. But I love her, still, after all of this, and I can't help myself. Wetness on my cheeks, rivers of it, bright and stinging against the marks on my face and my knees give way beneath me. I hear her leave without a word, the heels of her boots clattering noisily against broken wood and stone. Should have known better. She never could handle things like this. And all my guilt, my sorrow, my shame spilled out in the filthy darkness with no one to hear it. I know she thinks it's all about her. The world works that way in her head, all of us just paltry players spinning our wheels in the earth around her. But no, this is about me...that terrible ache eating me up inside, leaving me empty. The need to be better. To be a man. To be something other than the monster that left his thumbs imprinted on the tender flesh of her thighs. The need for love. Her love.
And now, the pieces are all scattered and I've no picture to go by...no sodding map to help me put things in the right place. The one thing that mattered, the one thing I always lacked...the thing that should have made me fit sent them all flying. Like so much dust in the wind. Now I know why she ran from me. Why she's still running. And why our twisted tango will never end. I want her to believe in me, to see me in all my pain and glorious folly. I want her to know now that I finally understand.
It was the dance that broke us...both of us. The ever-thrumming tympani of hunger, need, death and desperation driving us to destruction. Ripping out the seams where we had sewn the mangled bits of our hearts back together. Mine bloody and beaten from her death. Hers from the resurrection. So lost we'd do anything just to have something real, something solid, something substantial. Something to fill up the hollow places inside.
My love for her is madness. Even in the most fractured recesses of my mind, I know it. Knew it then, but it didn't stop my willing tumble into her deadly grip. Didn't even make me pause before I claimed those luscious lips with mine. And it was my hope that left me naked before her sharp-tongued barbs. The unwitting faith I had in my ability to charm her, bend her to my will. But she has never been one to be bent. So we danced. Circling each other, creating this dark disaster of flesh, blood, and bone. Our own personal hell shattering us into slivers.
And so, I get to start again, if ever the flames subside...if ever the screams in my head find their peace. Try to become what she needs. Because if nothing else, it's what she deserves.