It's the feeling of something building inside you, knowing it'll choke you eventually and whether that's with passion or pain you can't quite tell. The sweating pain of tears, a sob tearing through your throat, a knife in your skin... It's love but it doesn't make sence, the only point is to lose everything. All sense, all self, to lose everything and become someone else. To hide from the world in someone else's eyes, crawl into their skin and stay there, stay safe. And it goes on.
His chest rises and falls even in sleep, comfort drawn from such a simple movement but for me? It's hollow and taken for granted, I get no pleasure breathing. When there's simply nothing left to breathe for. An unrequited love by the only man who ever said he loved me and meant it? A duty? Everything left is shallow. And I won't breathe for it anymore.
It's never exactly been a fairytale but then I guess no love is. I could pretend we had something special, and maybe we did. Sharing dreams and the star crossed bit, possibly the supernatural made our love unique; but I can't anymore. Because he still left me, this "forever love" still ended inside him. He can look at me and not be him anymore, to me there's no Angel left in him. Maybe to him there's no Buffy in me, I'm not the school girl he left behind, but at least my heart's the same, my soul's the same. Perhaps Angel lost his so many times that love just couldn't hold it to him anymore. Love isn't enough, anymore. Maybe it never was.
I could cry right now, purely from self pity, the man I love refuses to let himself love me because gypsies refused him access to any kind of happiness. If he was just some cheap second-best - if I was - then we could be together. We could have as much self indulgent sex as we wanted, hours upon days of pointless, meaningless sex. But it would never be the same. It would never be him.
I tried the meaningless sex, I tried the second-best replacements. I've had rebounds for rebounds and then some one night stands because of them. But nothing made up for that hole in my heart because no matter what they do no one fills me up, not emotionally. No one that sees through me, can see the thoughts on the way. Their superficial gestures are only to secure their own happiness, carefully calculated to make sure I crawl back to them rather than someone else. And I do. Because it's something, and that's so much more than the nothing he's offering me right now.
Nothing. That's all I am to him, so that's all I am. Superfluous, a shadow, an extra. I could scream, but no one's listening. No one wants to know if I miss him. It would confuse the steadfast morals that their world is based on, black and white with a lack of grey. There's no room for error, no humanity in their morals. Silence is golden. If you don't have something good to say, then don't say anything at all. If something hurts, if it's not pretty, then just keep quiet. Let the pain fester, and build up inside you. Let it choke you, turn the knife. But by no means break the morals, be alone, be unhappy. Let him have his miserable way.
And I have. For so long I've left him to his devices, never questioned why he can't love me, be with me. When I discovered his secret I never said a word, I let it kill me instead. There are no visible barriers now but I still can't touch what I want. It hurts more. And I won't breathe for it anymore.
His chest rises and falls even in sleep, comfort drawn from such a simple movement but for me? It's hollow and taken for granted, I get no pleasure breathing. When there's simply nothing left to breathe for. An unrequited love by the only man who ever said he loved me and meant it? A duty? Everything left is shallow. And I won't breathe for it anymore.
It's never exactly been a fairytale but then I guess no love is. I could pretend we had something special, and maybe we did. Sharing dreams and the star crossed bit, possibly the supernatural made our love unique; but I can't anymore. Because he still left me, this "forever love" still ended inside him. He can look at me and not be him anymore, to me there's no Angel left in him. Maybe to him there's no Buffy in me, I'm not the school girl he left behind, but at least my heart's the same, my soul's the same. Perhaps Angel lost his so many times that love just couldn't hold it to him anymore. Love isn't enough, anymore. Maybe it never was.
I could cry right now, purely from self pity, the man I love refuses to let himself love me because gypsies refused him access to any kind of happiness. If he was just some cheap second-best - if I was - then we could be together. We could have as much self indulgent sex as we wanted, hours upon days of pointless, meaningless sex. But it would never be the same. It would never be him.
I tried the meaningless sex, I tried the second-best replacements. I've had rebounds for rebounds and then some one night stands because of them. But nothing made up for that hole in my heart because no matter what they do no one fills me up, not emotionally. No one that sees through me, can see the thoughts on the way. Their superficial gestures are only to secure their own happiness, carefully calculated to make sure I crawl back to them rather than someone else. And I do. Because it's something, and that's so much more than the nothing he's offering me right now.
Nothing. That's all I am to him, so that's all I am. Superfluous, a shadow, an extra. I could scream, but no one's listening. No one wants to know if I miss him. It would confuse the steadfast morals that their world is based on, black and white with a lack of grey. There's no room for error, no humanity in their morals. Silence is golden. If you don't have something good to say, then don't say anything at all. If something hurts, if it's not pretty, then just keep quiet. Let the pain fester, and build up inside you. Let it choke you, turn the knife. But by no means break the morals, be alone, be unhappy. Let him have his miserable way.
And I have. For so long I've left him to his devices, never questioned why he can't love me, be with me. When I discovered his secret I never said a word, I let it kill me instead. There are no visible barriers now but I still can't touch what I want. It hurts more. And I won't breathe for it anymore.