There's nothing like a bad day to serve as a catalyst for writing some angst. I hope you enjoy!
What exactly is love?
Is it a feeling of familiarity? Does it imply passion or gentleness? It is merely a word meant to express affection for another? Can it possibly mean more than that?
Is the word 'love' meant for humans alone? Is it even possible to love a thing that is not human?
As strange as it sounds, I believe it is possible to love things in this world.
How could he love me otherwise?
I am perfectly aware of the fact that I am not human, not a person in any sense. I can't be. Not with this despicable exterior that the fates have seen fit to grant me. And yet, he loved me still, fully aware of the notion that I was, in fact, a poor excuse for a human being.
They say that love is a many splendored thing. Well, I don't know if that rings true, but I do know that because he loved me, I have known true happiness.
He made me human. In his arms, I was no longer a fugitive. I was no longer public enemy number one, an active member of the resistance. In his arms, I was simply a woman who knew what it felt like to be loved.
I know he loved me. I could tell from the way he respected my wishes, however strange they might have seemed. He never once overstepped the boundaries I had set in place before this ordeal had even begun. He never touched me where he knew I was uncomfortable, never questioned my desire for darkness. Even though he only said it once, I believed him. Even though I urged him not to repeat the sentiment; it was far too dangerous for either of us, deep within my chest, my heart felt as though it might burst from the joy of it all.
He gave me something to look forward too. After our initial meeting, I had no inkling that our one-night stand would blossom into a full-blown love affair. I couldn't help but wonder about his wife and family in this matter. What would she say if she knew? Did she even love him at all? The last shred of my conscience told me that this was wrong, for many reasons, not just the moral ones, but that quickly died as well.
For once in my wretched life, I was, dare I say, happy
Heaven help anyone who dared to take that from me.
I knew perfectly well that our story could never end happily. Stories like ours never do. It was for that reason, I was content to live in the fantasy that came with the evening. To look up and see him standing in the doorway of my small apartment, lips twisted into that adorable half smile. To see the passion shining in his eyes as he made love to me, often more than once. To see him look at me as if I were worth all the riches in the world. Those where the nights that I lived for.
Even on the nights when we were not together, he filled my thoughts. More than once, I had to force myself to stop thinking of the how much I missed him, how much I would rather be with him in that small ramshackle apartment than out working for the Resistance. But this, I knew, was my calling. This was were I was meant to be, not Fiyero's embrace.
No matter how much I would have preferred the latter.
I suppose you could say that he changed me. His love, no matter how brief it was mine, was mine. He was my stength when my weakness was too great to bear. He saw the best in me where I saw nothing. He made me feel alive, wanted, beautiful. He made me feel like a woman. He made me feel like I had an ounce of worth in this world. To him, I was more than just a body to entertain himself with. I was a person that he could fall in love with, someone with which to share the real him.
He loved me from the inside out and that made me love him all the more.
I am everything I am because he loved me.
And because he loved me, he died.
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