I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
"Come on Enjolras, stop being such a lazy ass!"
With a raised brow, he chased after the brunette, an irrepressible grin on his face. There was no other like her; no one had the same amount of magnificence, all while having the intelligence of the greatest philosophers and a sense of humor that could lift anyone's spirits. In an essence, she was perfect. Every inch of her radiated beauty, and it wasn't necessarily the conventional type of beauty. Eponine's hair was always matted, her voice hoarse, and there always seemed to be a noticeable patch of dirt on her skin. But there was so much beauty that was beyond the surface – beyond what most people considered to be striking. The tiniest of her actions seemed to intrigue him. Whether it was the way her lips slowly curled up when she smiled, or the way she always scrunched her nose when she teased him, she never ceased to amaze him.
She had stopped at a fork in the road, standing with her hands on her hips as if she had been waiting for an eternity. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her in circles. Even with the wind howling through the leaves, the birds chirping loudly, and the commotion of all of the pedestrians that silently observed them, all he could hear was her laugh. Her laugh that sounded sweeter than a melody coined up by the Gods; more sublime than a philharmonic orchestra.
He took a deep breath, swallowing all of his pride and stubbornness before uttering the words he never had the courage to do before. They were simple words to speak, yet so hard to sound out. With all fears set aside, he turned to face her, all traces of emotion all removed from his expression and placed into his words.
"I love you."
Her smile gradually faded, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Nodding manically, she cupped his face in her hands, practically attacking him with a flurry of kisses.
"I love you too. And I always will."
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
And yet, he managed to push her away. With the impending revolution, he could not have such a sweet distraction. He could not have someone such as her worrying about his wellbeing – someone to mourn him. She was distraught over their ending, but he knew that he would rather have her hate him than try to go to the battlefield beside him, for he knew that having her blood on his hands would be something he would never forgive himself for. Enjolras could barely forgive himself for breaking her heart – being the reason that her heart has ceased beating would surely cause his own to stop. He would have to remain lonely at that lonely barricade.
As soon as the sun rose, they all heard the sound of marching boots. It came without warning, and was enough to jolt everyone to consciousness. They all grabbed their muskets, nodding to each other in what seemed like a final goodbye – and it was.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
His friends dropped like flies. They stood tall and brave moments before, slowly being picked off by the National Guard. The sounds of Prouvaire's cries before being executed, the mourns of his fellow revolutionaries as they saw the death that surrounded them – they all rang in his ears, haunting him as he fought behind that barricade with no light in his eyes. He knew what was coming. He knew that being there was a death sentence, but knowing that Eponine was safe in her bed and not at his execution kept him going. He fought for her.
"Enjolras, to your left!" he heard the voice of Courfeyrac cry out. Before he even had the chance to process the words, he heard a loud bang and saw a flash. However, he felt no pain. He did, however, see the blood that stained his coat – blood that wasn't his. It wasn't until then that he noticed someone beside him, a large wound in their abdomen. Their hat fell from their head, and the familiar locks were released from their captivity.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it had lost her.
Enjolras rushed hold her, his entire body trembling. His efforts were futile. All of them were.
"Eponine, how could you?" He snapped, both exasperatedly and somberly. "You could have lived a hundred years. You–you could have seen the new world."
They both knew that his words were more optimistic than what he really felt, but at such a time, his attempt at optimism was just what she needed; she needed to see him with some remnants of hope. With all of her strength, she brought her lips to his once more, her hand lingering on his cheek as she whispered her final words.
"When I told you that I loved you, I meant it. I love you, and I always will. Keep fighting, Apollo. Fight for me."
Her body tensed up momentarily before she became limp in his arms, her head falling back and her breath ceasing. Clenching both his fists and his jaw, Enjolras presses his lips into a hard line, feeling an intensity he had not seen in himself since the meetings at Café Musain. The grim scene destroyed his confidence, but she brought it back. With his red flag raised in the air, he continues his battle brazenly. He fights with the group which barely missed becoming historic.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Notes: And there you have it! A rather depressing one shot. I love this poem and felt like using it for something, so this is what came out of it. In case you wanna check out the full poem, as I didn't use the whole thing, it's called Tonight I Can Write (The Saddest Lines) by Pablo Neruda. It's a really beautiful poem, as a majority of his stuff is. I might use Sonnet XVII by him at some point, but we'll see.