Yes, Baavira again. Yes, I've been writing this one since January. Yeas, I'm really slow at writing. Yes, it's short just like the others.
So, I was asked to make a sequel for "Let's Pretend Until It's Over", but a happy one. Sorry, I failed, but I felt like this should come first. Both of them are in prison and wondering about their lives, so I thought it would fit. There you have it, enjoy and feel free to correct my mistakes (just a little reminder: English is not my mother language)
And I should say that this one will probably have a sequel (a happy one, I promise)
And I have done this all before,
And nothing ever changes.
Waiting gets harder everytime,
I don't know how to stay still.
And nothing more left to lose, throw it all away
Maybe the last chance I get to see your face
I can't afford to leave here
P.O.D. - This Time
He waits.
While the days go by, while the sun goes down after another sun.
He waits and thinks about her.
He thinks about green eyes and black braided hair swirling as she dances.
He thinks about a warm hug and a sweet shy smile.
He thinks about a quiet yet strong 'yes' and a feeling burning on his stomach.
He thinks about better days. Happy days.
And he also thinks about a calming lie, and a sudden purple blur. He thinks about the treason, about the backstabbing. About the sorrow. The shock.
He replays the same scene over and over and wishes it was just a dream.
But he also thinks about her regretful and teary eyes.
He thinks about a sad apologize, her voice shaken.
He thinks about his conflicted feelings and wishes he had had more time to clarify things with her.
But right now this is all he gets: a consequence of a fool mistake, a controversy feeling. The silent rest until his sentence is over. A tiny thread of hope to hold on to.
Meanwhile, in her lonely cell Kuvira rests, her back leaned against the damp wall.
Another day. All alone.
She looks through her tiny window to the dark blue sky and she thinks.
She thinks about bright green eyes shining with brilliant explanations and genius sketches.
She thinks about a shy hold of hands and a hesitant first kiss.
She thinks about a nervous yet funny proposal and a beautiful ring resting on her finger.
She thinks about calmer days. Happy days.
And she also thinks about a tough decision, a sacrifice. She thinks about the guilt, the regret. About the sadness. The mourn.
She replays the same scene over and over and wishes she could remake her decisions.
But she also thinks about a quiet whisper in middle of the chaos.
She thinks about understanding eyes, his voice nostalgic.
She thinks about the angst and the doubts and she wishes she had had more time to clarify things with him.
But right now this is what she gets: a bittersweet memory, a sharp regret, a long time alone to rethink her decisions. The silent rest until her sentence is over. A tiny thread of hope to hold on to.
She sighs and marks another day in her counting.
She accepts her punishment, she regrets.
While the days go by, while the sun goes down after another sun.
She waits.