* Disclaimer!!! I normally don't write romance, so I apologize for the mush to be found here. I couldn't help it; I was struck with a sentimental mood for some reason unbeknownst to myself. So that's the explanation for the following. Don't expect to read anything like it by me again. Also, the song "Miss You" is by Incubus, and of course Sirius Black belongs to J. K. Rowling. *
To see you when I wake up
is a gift I didn't think could be real.
I love you – words that sound so mundane, cheapened and saddened by the travesty of romance these days. Look at the gift shops, will you? What should be sacred and intimate, between two people only, is plastered across splashy colored stuffed bears and chocolates, tacky cards and everything in between. I love you – people say it just to get someone into bed, a momentary pleasure that dissipates once the sun comes up and the light shines upon the darkness growing between two hearts. I thought that's all love was, that it had ever been. Perhaps I've always been a little cynical, but that is what I believed. Was I right? I've made so many mistakes.
I never thought it could happen to me. I've had my own affairs of the flesh, but dark languages rarely last into the morning. With the sun came the end, as surely as the tides flow and winter returns to claim the earth. Sometimes it took me longer to realize, and the barbs of false love dug deep into my heart. I am one of those cursed few: a pragmatist and a romantic, at once. I expect to be hurt but I can't escape the trap. Until her. She changed everything.
To know that you feel the same as I do
is a three-fold, utopian dream.
I never knew what love was. Even at first, with her, she was just like the others, a soft skin to comfort away the night-fear, to soothe the pain of a yearning ache. When did she become more? I never let anyone else under my skin, but she wormed her way there without my realizing. Before I could act and drive her away, she was clinging close, and I drowned in her, reveled in this new feeling of trust and tenderness. Lust at first sight, perhaps, but in the end so much more – after her, how could I go back to the old ways? My mistakes have torn us apart – does she still remember?
You do something to me that I can't explain
So would I be out of line if I said,
I miss you.
I never knew it was possible to long for someone so. Here, in this deep pit of depression and hate, if I close my eyes I can feel her eyelashes flutter against my face; here, where there is nothing but the worst of what you are and what you've been, I can hear her whisper. She's with me even now, even if she doesn't know it. God, what must she think? What everyone must think? Friends. Lover. Ripped away without a trace when I was cast here, but I'd give them all up for the feeling of her hands twined in mine.
Pathetic. Look at me! Look at me, will you? I'm reduced to a – a pathetic lump, of – of ... God, what's happening to me? When I was younger I promised myself I'd never need anyone – I was independent. I was strong. And look at me. I can hardly sleep for thinking of that face as it watched me, dragged away and thrown into this dank hellhole to be forgotten forever. I never got to say goodbye. Only that horrified white face, beautiful even when she thought the worst, blood drained from it, pale as death.
I see your picture
I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine.
Even the tiny cots here seem barren and overlarge, with only my body to fill it. Though my feet hang over the edge and I topple to the floor when I turn, there's something missing. The feel of her, tucked against me..
You have only been gone ten days,
but already I'm wasting away.
I can't eat what they give me. Is she all right? No, of course she's not, but is she healthy? Will she ever forgive me? Will she believe the truth, if I can ever tell it?
I know I'll see you again
whether far or soon.
One of these days. She'll know the truth. It's what she deserves, for what she's given.
But I need you to know that I care
and I miss you.
I love her.
To see you when I wake up
is a gift I didn't think could be real.
I love you – words that sound so mundane, cheapened and saddened by the travesty of romance these days. Look at the gift shops, will you? What should be sacred and intimate, between two people only, is plastered across splashy colored stuffed bears and chocolates, tacky cards and everything in between. I love you – people say it just to get someone into bed, a momentary pleasure that dissipates once the sun comes up and the light shines upon the darkness growing between two hearts. I thought that's all love was, that it had ever been. Perhaps I've always been a little cynical, but that is what I believed. Was I right? I've made so many mistakes.
I never thought it could happen to me. I've had my own affairs of the flesh, but dark languages rarely last into the morning. With the sun came the end, as surely as the tides flow and winter returns to claim the earth. Sometimes it took me longer to realize, and the barbs of false love dug deep into my heart. I am one of those cursed few: a pragmatist and a romantic, at once. I expect to be hurt but I can't escape the trap. Until her. She changed everything.
To know that you feel the same as I do
is a three-fold, utopian dream.
I never knew what love was. Even at first, with her, she was just like the others, a soft skin to comfort away the night-fear, to soothe the pain of a yearning ache. When did she become more? I never let anyone else under my skin, but she wormed her way there without my realizing. Before I could act and drive her away, she was clinging close, and I drowned in her, reveled in this new feeling of trust and tenderness. Lust at first sight, perhaps, but in the end so much more – after her, how could I go back to the old ways? My mistakes have torn us apart – does she still remember?
You do something to me that I can't explain
So would I be out of line if I said,
I miss you.
I never knew it was possible to long for someone so. Here, in this deep pit of depression and hate, if I close my eyes I can feel her eyelashes flutter against my face; here, where there is nothing but the worst of what you are and what you've been, I can hear her whisper. She's with me even now, even if she doesn't know it. God, what must she think? What everyone must think? Friends. Lover. Ripped away without a trace when I was cast here, but I'd give them all up for the feeling of her hands twined in mine.
Pathetic. Look at me! Look at me, will you? I'm reduced to a – a pathetic lump, of – of ... God, what's happening to me? When I was younger I promised myself I'd never need anyone – I was independent. I was strong. And look at me. I can hardly sleep for thinking of that face as it watched me, dragged away and thrown into this dank hellhole to be forgotten forever. I never got to say goodbye. Only that horrified white face, beautiful even when she thought the worst, blood drained from it, pale as death.
I see your picture
I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine.
Even the tiny cots here seem barren and overlarge, with only my body to fill it. Though my feet hang over the edge and I topple to the floor when I turn, there's something missing. The feel of her, tucked against me..
You have only been gone ten days,
but already I'm wasting away.
I can't eat what they give me. Is she all right? No, of course she's not, but is she healthy? Will she ever forgive me? Will she believe the truth, if I can ever tell it?
I know I'll see you again
whether far or soon.
One of these days. She'll know the truth. It's what she deserves, for what she's given.
But I need you to know that I care
and I miss you.
I love her.