d u a l i t y — d u a l i t ä t
. . .
If I were a little bird
And had two little wings,
I'd fly to you.
But as it can't be
But as it can't be,
I always stay here…
. . .
o1. STRAY
I met a stray today.
He's quiet, well-behaved, and doesn't do much. He's kind of little, mind you, like a tiny blonde elf or something, and not too sociable from what I can tell. I couldn't help but take the poor fellow in; he looked lost. And yet…
The way he looked at me, you'd think he'd known me all his life.
. . .
o2. NIGHTMARE
The bed creaks yet again, shifting under my new roommate's weight. Day three and counting. Every night, he moves around in his sleep, murmuring to himself as if he in some far off land.
I simply learn to ignore it, dozing off in my own bed some few feet beside him.
Why does everything sound louder at night?
Another creak sounds, followed by a small, angered sigh. Curious, I can't help but roll over and glance at my companion. The blonde bundle's wrapped up loosely in his covers, golden hair fanning out over his back in a messy fashion. (He should really cut it. Long hair on a guy?) Moments pass as I wait for him to shift around again, but he seems comfortable at last.
Maybe his back hurts or something, my mind thinks lazily, eyelids drooping down as sleep overtakes me. Or he's having a hard time adjusting…
Everything goes blank for a while—
—and then he screams.
It's all I can do not to jump up and fall out of bed, my heart giving a shocked jolt as I shoot up like a bullet. Eyes wide, I stare over at the man, confused by his sudden outburst.
He's sitting up now, head buried in his upraised knees and hands buried firmly and deeply in his stream of hair. I should probably go over to him, see what's wrong, but my body won't move. All I can do is stare in concern as he falls silent, shaking.
"Ed?"
Just like that, his head snaps up in surprise. My eyes narrow, brows knit together at his reaction. Something about my voice must have startled him…
"Edward, what's wrong?"
"I…you were…"
That confused amber gaze is directed in my direction, his mouth half-open as the words die on his tongue. We stare at each other for a good, solid minute, (it seems like hours), before his eyes take on a pained look of realization.
He stares at me a bit longer.
"Ed?"
"It's nothing."
Dismissive. Worry wells up in my heart as the blonde lets out a small sigh, lying back down once more and yanking the covers over his head.
. . .
o3. STROLL
A little walk was usually good for strays, right? At least that's what I think, the next morning. Walking relieves stress.
Yet as I walk with Edward now, down the busy streets of this bustling city, I can tell he has far more stress than I originally thought.
He is silent the entire time, staring around in fascination. It's weird; he seems so distant, despite the fact that he's right beside me, and he looks at certain things with a sort of recognition in his eyes.
Like he's bored, but intrigued at the same time.
At first I'm simply quiet, showing him around like a good host. Yet soon, I find myself glancing down at the young man. "You okay, Ed? You're kind of quiet today."
When isn't he?
He gives me a small smile—you know, one of those sad, distracted ones that those close to you give when they don't want you to worry—and shakes his head. "I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."
Because you never sleep at night. The words are almost out of my mouth, but I decide to keep my mouth shut.
Those few words are what sparked our conversation—one of the few times I actually got him talking for more than thirty seconds. We go on like this for a good ten minutes or so before we end up in the calmer side of town. Near Gracia's flower shop.
Said woman waves the moment she catches sight of us, a pleasant smile on her warm face and a small bundle of tulips cradled in her arms. "Alfons!"
I raise my hand in greeting, heading in the woman's direction with Edward trailing after me. In all these years that I've lived in Munich, Gracia's always been there to help me out. Especially through the hard times. She's like a second mother, one that I love and admire with all my being.
The fair haired woman gently pats my shoulder as I approach. "How have you been? Is your research coming along nicely?"
"Yeah, I'm getting there," I reply with a sheepish grin. "Slowly, but still, getting there."
"You'll make it to the top, I'm sure. Just don't forget us little people," she jokes with a laugh. She removes her hand to support the little bundle of flowers, but pauses as she looks over my shoulder with a questioning gaze. "Is that…a friend of yours?"
"Huh?"
For a split second, I forget that Ed is standing behind us; he's so silent. As I turn, though, I find a strange, unreadable expression on the blonde's face. He stares at Gracia the same way he had stared at me when we first met.
Like he'd seen a ghost.
"This is—" The words leave my mouth as I walk over to the man and wrap an arm around his slender shoulders. "—Edward Elric, my new buddy. He'll be living with me for a while."
As I lead the man over to Gracia, the latter smiles warmly and offers her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Edward. I'm—"
"Gracia."
We all freeze at his sudden response. Even Ed seems taken aback by the word that had left his mouth, a look of mild embarrassment on his face. Shocked as she is, however, Gracia lifts the uneasy mood with a small laugh. "Sorry, have we met before?"
"N…no, it's just…" I can tell Ed is struggling for the words, a pinkish blush creeping upon his face. "You look like a Gracia."
"Oh, really? Most people say I look like an Amanda, or an Emily."
They converse in that same, light tone of friendship, and little by little Edward seems to loosen up. All I can do is stare at the two in awe. Particularly at Ed. I think he's aware of my gaze as well.
Because we both know he's never met Gracia before.
. . .
o4. WHISPERS
Yet again that bed creaks under my roommate's weight. He's having trouble sleeping again, only this time it's worse.
I can hear what he's saying.
"Al…'m…sorry…"
"Ed?"
"Listen…Winry…about Al…"
"Hey, wake up."
I'm by his side now, unable to take the sorrowful whispers any longer. The more I listen, the more I wonder about this man. About who he was and where he came from.
About why he called a name that was both mine, but not mine at all.
I rest on the edge of the bed beside the blonde bundle, gently shaking him as he shifts around once more. His hair is mess, especially when out of its usual ponytail, and falls loosely around his (somewhat) sleeping face. Pink dusts his cheeks as he tosses his head to the side, eyelids clamped together more tightly.
Nightmare.
"Al…Al…"
I arch curious eyebrows, unsure what to do. It was my name, but…
It isn't me he's calling to.
. . .
I'm also far from you,
I'm by your side in dreams
And I talk to you.
When I wake up,
When I wake up,
I'm on my own…
. . .
o5. VERTIGO
"So that's the story."
"…"
I blink at Ed's words, silent. Thoughtful. Curious. Confused.
None of that makes any sense, and yet… I can't help but believe him. Despite all the laws of logic and reason. I actually believe his story of some other world he used to live in. A world where people are the same as us, where the same principle apply—save for the outdated practice of alchemy—and where life is no different than ours.
The only difference is that his Alphonse isn't here.
Or anyone else Ed truly cares about, it seems.
And, for some odd reason, his next words bring a sharp pang of anger to my heart.
"Maybe I should have told you sooner," he says, taking a seat at the dining table in a casual fashion, oblivious to the look of disbelief on my face. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all, but you have the right to know. Who knows?'
He gives a solemn laugh, pausing before looking up at me again. "Maybe talking about it will wake me up from this dream.
I stand there, staring at him with slight anger. "A dream?"
"Or a nightmare, who can be sure?"
"You think this is some sort of punishment? Your price for crossing the Gate and coming back in one piece?"
"It's very likely. Being stuck here doesn't help me in any way. Yeah… If anything, it's retribution for doing the forbidden again."
Stuck? Retribution?
My hands clench together into a fist, a scowl playing on my lips. He feels as though he were stuck.
So why even stay with me? What did he want? Was he simply drawn to me for that fact that I look like his brother? Alphonse.
"How do you know," I ask quietly, finally taking a seat at the table, directly across from him, "that he's even alive? Your brother?"
In an instant, his eyes snap up to stare at me blankly. No, not blankly; fearfully.
I should feel bad, but his fear pleases me. I continue: "He could be dead. For all you know, your sacrifice wasn't even honored."
"Stop."
"Who's to say that you gave up something for nothing, Ed? You said you gave your life for his, and yet here you are, alive and in once piece."
"Enough."
"And that might not even be the case." I watch him, calm and collected, my voice soft. "He could be alive on the other side of this Gate of yours, living his own life without you."
"Shut up."
"He could have forgotten you—"
"SHUT UP!!"
He's on his feet now, hands slapped down palm first on the table, hard enough to leave a dent in the oaken wood. He is shaking, golden eyes filled with fury and pain.
Pain I caused.
A silence falls over us as his head drops heavily, bangs covering his face like two yellow curtains. Instantly, regret bites at my heart. Why? Why did I say all of that?!
"Ed…?"
"Don't…don't say things like that. Please." He looks up at me with a pained expression, a look mixed with anger and impatience. "I'm going back to him, whatever it takes."
A nod is all I can manage as he calms down, removing his gloved hands from the table. Without a word, the young man leaves the room, his words lingering in the air.
I'm going back to him…
But that meant leaving me in the process.
. . .
o6. APOLOGY
"Al, you know… I'm sorry."
"…"
"Come on, say something."
"…"
Another day at home. It's quiet, save for Ed's soft calls and comments. I simply lean back on the sofa, legs crossed and book propped open in my lap. I don't even have to look up to see that Ed is resting on his knees before me, amber eyes watching me intently.
Relentlessly.
Why are you apologizing? I think, frowning and turning another page. I'm the one who was out of line.
Apparently, Ed doesn't see it that way. It's just because I've been ignoring him all that time, I'm sure… Even so…
"Alfons, answer me."
"What do you want, Ed?"
My voice is a lot colder than I meant it to be. The man falls silent, still watching me out of frustration, anger lingering in his gaze. Before long, he rises to his feet, turning to leave as his ponytail roughly whips at my face.
"Never mind. I'm going out."
. . .
o7. FEVER
The flu's no fun.
Especially when you're stuck in bed, at home with someone who doesn't know the first thing about cooking. And yet…I don't really mind.
At least he tries.
"It's no good, is it?" I look up at the blonde who's watching me intently, a frown playing on his lips. "The soup."
"How many times do I have to tell you, it's fine, Ed?" Despite myself, I smile and sit up in my bed a little more, taking another sip of the brown liquid before me. "A little creamy, though."
"There's milk in it."
Yes, I actually choke on the liquid, half laughing, half coughing as the blonde gives a startled jump at my reaction. He's already on his feet, bending over me nervously with a tissue in his hand. "What's wrong?!"
"Milk?" He looks confused by my laughing tone. "Milk in soup? That's new."
"It's…my mother's recipe. At least what I remember of it," he admits after a second or two, letting out a relieved sigh. The next moment, his look of relief is replaced with one of annoyance. "And what the hell was with that just now? I thought you were having a heart attack or something!"
"It's just different, that's all." A chuckle escapes my lips as I take the tissue from his outstretched hand and wipe at my dripping mouth. Before long, though, I end up coughing again, covering my mouth with the little tissue. He eyes me warily.
Damn, the coughing again… I was always coughing, but it seems worse what with this sickness of mine. Once my fit is over, I lie back in the bed, handing my bowl back to Edward tiredly. "Here. I'm not that hungry right now."
"Alright."
I watch silently as the man sets the bowl aside on the nightstand, reaching over instead for a pinkish rag soaking in another bowl nearby. I don't know why, but I'm fascinated by the sight of him wringing the dripping thing dry, folding it into a neat rectangle to place on my head. And, without reason, I blurt out something stupid.
"You're really cute, you know that?"
At this point, he's staring at me with wide eyes, mouth agape. "What?"
"You're like a little maid."
Silence. Awkward, uncomfortable silence.
We just stare at each other for what seems like forever. Then he sighs and gently slaps my cheek with the side of his hand. "The hell are you calling little?"
He just brushes it off like it's nothing. That simple act causes me to laugh and close my eyes as the rag is placed on my burning forehead. We fall silent once more, Ed turning to gather the bowls off of the nightstand. And my bout of stupidity rears its ugly head yet again.
"You ever take care of him this way?"
Instantly he freezes, staring at me with an unreadable expression.
"Your brother?"
"…" He doesn't quite know how to respond, I can tell, so he just stands there wordlessly, averting his gaze.
"Is it the same because I look like him?'
"No."
"What if I called you 'Brother'?"
"Just knock it off, Al," he snaps sternly, grabbing hold of the bowls and whipping around to leave the room. I catch hold of his wrist before he can even leave, momentarily throwing off his balance.
"What?" He's no longer amused, close to glaring at me. I simply blink, never releasing him.
"Would you like that, Ed? If I called you—"
"You need to rest."
"You let him do it, why not me?"
"You're not him!"
… Wordlessly, I release the blonde, never taking my eyes off of him. We stare at each other for much longer, unreadable expressions of both of our faces.
Then he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.
. . .
o8. DREAMING
A week has passed since then.
Ed acts as though nothing's happened. He doesn't even comment when I suddenly decide to call him Brother, going on in conversation as if I'd called him by his name instead.
Like he doesn't care one way or another.
Honestly, though, I can tell that it's getting to him. No, that's a special name that is reserved for one person and one person only to use—a person that wasn't me.
I can't quite place why I feel so jealous over the whole thing, but I don't think much about it. No, my thoughts usually focused on Ed's detachment to this world. On how he didn't like getting close to people, emotionally anyway. On how he couldn't quite acknowledge my existence as a human being and not as some alternate life form wearing the face of his deceased brother.
He claims that he is dreaming, but this world, dream-like or not, is real to me.
. . .
There is no hour in the night,
In which my heart doesn't wake up
And think of you,
That, more than a thousand times,
That, more than a thousand times,
You give your heart to me…
. . .
o9. RESTLESS
"I have a meeting with my group tonight, alright? I might not be back until late, so you can just do whatever you want. Oh, but could you leave a note if you step out, I don't want to have to—Ed, are you listening to me?"
"Hm?"
Not once has he moved from his bed, simply lying there since last night. The clock reads seven thirty-four at night—and he still refuses to leave his bed.
I can't help but worry.
"Are you feeling okay? You're not sick, are you?"
"Uh-uh."
"Do you want something before I leave?"
"No…"
I take a moment to seat myself beside the man bundled underneath the covers, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"You'll be late."
"…Yeah."
I leave then. It seems like ages, years, that I'm away from home even though it's only for four or five hours and by the time I get back I am exhausted. Yet I can't bring myself to collapse face first on my bed like I want to, instead shooting a fleeting glance Ed's way.
He's still lying in bed, on his back, muttering something it seems. My fingers work to loosen my tie as I make my way over to him. "Still asleep, huh?"
He shifts, the bed creaking, something close to a whimper escaping his lips. Nightmares again. Best to leave him to himself. He gets cranky when I interrupt his napping…
Mind made up, I get dressed for bed. My body moves on its own as it falls tiredly onto my bed, legs hanging halfway over the edge, pointing in Ed's direction. No, I was comfortable enough…
Lights off. House silent. Eyes shut. A peaceful calm that surrounds us.
It's nice…
"Al…"
He's whispering again. Just ignore it, my mind tells me, let him be.
"Alfons?"
Was he calling me? No, it was his brother I was sure…
Things quiet down again until, before long, Ed's bed creaks underneath his weight. Soft footsteps are heard as the man makes his way over to my bed, slow and steady. Hesitant. I don't even open my eyes as my bed gives a small groan, weight added to its right side.
Edward settles himself in front of me, lying down as well. Curious, I crack my eyelids open to stare into his sleepy face.
I wonder, has anyone ever told him he had such girlish hair? It is…fitting somehow, especially let loose like it is now, hanging over his neck and shoulder… He blinks, forehead dangerously close to mine. Mouth dangerously close to mine. Eyes entrancing and hypnotic.
"Can't sleep?" I ask simply, awed by the warmth of his body so close to mine.
"You don't mind if I stay like this, do you?"
"Go ahead, just don't do anything funny."
"I'm not like that."
"Right."
He doesn't even make an effort to lash out at my little jeer, completely ignoring my amused chuckle. Instead, his eyes take on a pained expression, his mouth stretching into a thin scowl.
"Al?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
I blink. "For what?"
"Using you…"
What? What's he talking about?
No, but the answer is in his very gaze. That dejected look is enough to tell me why he feels so guilty—even though I don't feel used in the very least.
Sorry for taking your kindness for granted. Sorry for intruding. Sorry for using you…
As a substitute.
He doesn't even have to say it…
. . .
1o. NONSENSE
"Imagining things, huh?"
"Yeah. He says he sees his brother at night."
"And that you look like him?"
"Yes."
Hughes shakes his weary head, a sigh forcing itself out of his mouth. Midday, and it's freezing outside of the beer hall.
Hughes' usual gang of friends is nowhere to be seen, leaving just the two of us to talk freely while watching citizens travel by, minding their own business. Life seems so simple when you're watching others living it. So simple and easy, it makes you wonder if you have it harder than everyone else.
"Have you thought about taking him to a therapist?" Hughes supplies after a minute or two, turning golden eyes my way. I arch an eyebrow.
"A therapist?"
"Yeah, for his little problem. They're supposed to be good with that kind of stuff, you know."
"I don't think he'd agree to that."
"Then trick him into it."
"I'm not doing that either," I sigh, turning my head in the other direction, staring around blankly. Hughes merely chuckles, adjusting his hat.
"You're getting soft, Alfons."
I supposed… There's a small pause before I reply, "But what if his story is true? What if he really is from some other world, stuck here with no alchemy or whatever to get back home?"
"Please, alchemy? Gateways, homunculi, alternate universes… If you ask me, it's all nonsense."
"So I'm full of nonsense now, Officer?"
Both Hughes and I jump at the sudden voice from behind. Little did we know that Ed had just turned the corner, brown paper shopping bags bundled up in his arms as he glared at the two of us. Hughes balks, giving a nervous laugh. I stay put, matching the blonde's stare.
Shaking his head, Edward dumped the bags into my arms. "Here, I got the groceries. We're having stew for dinner."
He is already well on his way down the sidewalk when I call out to him. "H-hey, wait! Ed, the house is the other way."
"I'm taking a walk. Don't wait up for me."
Not so much as a glance backwards or a wave goodbye. He simply storms off in a huff, hands shoved into his coat pockets.
But, no, I'm not about to let him get away that easily. Groaning in frustration, I hastily hand Hughes the bags, chasing after Ed while calling over my shoulder, "Hold those for me real quick, will ya?"
I don't hear what the officer has to say as I dart after the golden-haired figure pushing its way through the throng of people crowding the streets. Why's my heart racing? Why am I so anxious?
Why do I feel so hurt by that angered look on Edward's face?
"Ed! Hey, slow down!"
Not once does he turn to look at me, continuing on his way even when I manage to match my pace with his. He has a look of determination on his face, as if getting away from me, from everyone, was his top priority.
"Will you talk to me?" I ask frantically, breathing heavily while attempting to keep up my pace with the man. "Look, we were just talking, that's all."
"And I'm sure you had a good laugh about it too."
"Calm down! It's not like that. Ed—Edward, listen to me!"
Grabbing hold of his arm seems to be the only thing I can do to stop him, so I don't think twice about snatching onto his wrist. The act earns me a stern glare, but I don't release him, glaring right back.
"Let me go."
"Not until you calm down. It's not like we were making fun of you, I'm just worried, that's all."
"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" His voice is low, threatening. Frightfully hurt. "Some sort of maniac. Well it's not my fault I'm stuck here, you know?"
"From what you've told me, it is!"
Mistake. Big mistake.
But I keep on going, ignoring the wounded expression on his face.
"No one told you to transmute your mother, or whatever it was, no one told you to go chasing after your lost limbs, and no one told you to make a Philosopher's Stone! Everything you've done has landed you here, so don't you dare act like you've got it rough, like it's my fault you're trapped here! Some people have it worse than you, have you ever considered that?"
He tries to pull himself free, but I tighten my grip.
"Ed, just let things go. You can't keep bullying yourself over what happened."
"You understand nothing," he snaps, still trying to tug himself free.
"Then help me understand. Talk to me!"
"Every time we talk, you make me feel like some sort of psychopath!"
"That's not true."
"How would you know?" I feel it now, the stares of people passing by. They're watching us nervously as Ed's voice goes from quiet jeers to yelling. But I don't care, focusing my attention on him. Only him. "How would you know when you're always working on your little planes?"
"Rockets."
"Whatever! Look, I'm leaving. Let me go."
"No."
"Right now, Alfons."
"No."
"Quit jerking me arou—"
He doesn't finish his sentence. I don't let him.
Because my lips are pressed against his.
Yes, I can feel it—the shocked stares of those around us. The speedy heartbeat of the man standing before me; or is it mine? I can tell, I'm breathing so hard…
His lips are softer than I thought they'd be, and warm. Still wide with shock as I explored that mouth of his. Ed's eyes are wide as well, glazed over with some unknown emotion.
The moment our connection is over, I pull back with a sigh, staring at the silent male. He stares back, still confused. Eyes watery, like he was going to cry.
"W…why did you…?"
"I don't think it's nonsense, Ed."
He blinks, still unsure. "What?"
"Not you, not your brother, not your world. None of it is nonsense, so don't act like you're some sort of outsider when you're with me." Despite myself, I'm smiling. "I might not understand everything, but I'm here for you and that should be enough, okay?
"So, please…" I hold out a hand for the man to take, amused by the lost look on his face. "Calm down, will you?"
Amber clashes with blue, the former lighting up with something unknown. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again after a moment, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. Hesitantly, he takes my hand, turning his flushing head the other way.
"I'm calm, so just… I want to go home."
Home.
Whether or not he meant here or there remained unclear.
. . .
11. HOMEBOUND
How much time has passed, I wonder, since I first met him? It seems like years… Yes, it has been years.
And yet, even now, as I witness my life's work, my rocket, powering up and preparing for launch, I still see a stranger. A stray.
I watch in horror as blood rains down from the upper levels of the Thule Society's headquarters, blood from none other than Edward's dad. The father he had said he hated, but was forced to watch die so gruesomely. From below, I can see the destroyed look on Edward's face as his father gives his life for him.
And the Gate opens.
I'm stunned by its beauty, momentarily forgetting my surroundings, lost in the colors that flash brightly from above. So ominous, so gorgeous, so terrifying and enthralling at the same time… I can't tear my eyes away.
Until a gunshot sounds loudly from above, snapping my head away from the ceiling—and my eyes stretch wide with shock and fear from what I see.
Ed is falling, and falling fast, towards where I stand. Near my work area, towards the tiled floor. Noah screams, though I can't see her, and a dull thud sounds from above.
But I can't focus on her when Ed is falling…
"EDWARD!!"
I'm surprised I even managed to break the poor man's fall, letting out a pained groan as his body collapses onto mine. Physical pain isn't what's tearing me up, though; it's emotional.
My body aches, my heart beating rapidly, my eyes wide, my mouth dry… Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, even me as I quickly sit up, holding the blonde's body closely.
"Ed? Ed! Please, don't… God, ANSWER ME!"
But of course, he's silent.
For a few minutes more, I find myself freaking out, close to crying, holding the man firmly in my arms… He can't die… He can't die… He can't…
He isn't dead.
Relief shoots through me like a bullet as a harsh cough tears itself from his mouth, his body shuddering.
No, he isn't dead.
"Ed…"
There's no answer, but that doesn't keep me from calling his name once more, and again after that, nothing but relief washing over me. I cradle the man, lifting my head towards the ceiling once more.
The Gate sparkles and shimmers as Eckhart's ship zips through it.
And on the other side…
Do it, a voice in my head whispers solemnly, send him home…
This is the only chance.
My mind's made up.
. . .
11. PROMISE
"We're real, Edward. We're not just part of your dreams like you thought. I care and I make mistakes. I may not live much longer but I'll still be here.
"Just don't forget me."
Simple words. Even with such simple words, I can see the fear in his eyes, the confusion. He just never has a chance to voice it, never has a chance to protest as the rocket is plunged forward into the air and straight for the Gate hanging above.
I see him struggle. I hear him shout. I see the reluctance and anger in his eyes as he calls my name.
All I can do is smile, a strange sense of calm settling over me.
Go home, Ed.
Go to the one you really love.
BANG!!
Blood… My blood, right? Yeah…
Why else would my back be on fire, or my knees feel weak. Pain shoots through my entire body as the bullet shoots straight through my spine, knocking me off my feet.
Even then, I'm still smiling.
Ed's rocket zips through the Gate flawlessly, disappearing into the shining, sparkling abyss. Three words escape my mouth in the form of a whisper as my last breath is spent. "Go home, Ed…"
Just don't forget me…
. . .
Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär
Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär,
Und auch zwei Flüglein hätt,
Flög ich zu dir
Weils aber nicht kann sein
Weils aber nicht kann sein,
Bleib ich allhier
. . .
Bin ich gleich weit von dir,
Bin ich doch im Traum bei dir
Und red mit dir.
Wenn ich erwachen tu,
Wenn ich erwachen tu,
Bin ich allein.
. . .
Es vergeht kein Stund in der Nacht,
Dass nicht mein Herz erwacht
Und an dich denkt,
Dass du mir viel Tausend mal,
Dass du mir viel Tausend mal,
Dein Herz geschenkt.
. . .
t h i s – b i r d – i s – l o s t
. . .
d u a l i t ä t — d u a l i t y
A/N: Oh my goodness, I had to write this. (Even though I have other stories to focus on.) Just had to, though I don't know why. It really had no point, to be honest…
The poem you see is not mine, but an actual German song that I happened to find called Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär—If I Were a Little Bird. (Fitting, no?) When I read it, I was literally like "Ohmagawd, that fits the story perfectly!!" Hopefully you all liked it. Thank you for reading.
(P.S. I don't know German, so if any of the translations or wording is wrong, feel free to correct me. Please and thank you!)