Sweet Summer Pains
A/N: So I'm sorry I haven't been on here for forever...school's been killing me and I'm overworked and in the middle of 2 original novels and my life is just one big mess. --U Anyway, look forward to some more fics -school hasn't taken me over yet.
Anyway, as always, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own. Sorry.
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It was a sweet summer, the kind with never-ending days in which the wind seemed to carry a hint of a wet-glossed kisses and lightly brushed embraces. The night hung in the air with a sort of melancholy hopefulness, moonlight's melody whispering through the trees and floating on saccharine butterfly wings, fragile and sanguine in an ephemeral blue wash-haze that seemed to fade into the summer sky, tinged sadness and nostalgia, lost childhoods lingering in the faint breeze.
She stared, blind awareness seeping into the green-emerald shards that prickled into her milky legs, sprawled out on the too-perfect lawn, smelling familiarly like freshly-mown grass.
She swore she could almost hear the fairies singing love songs and murmuring sweet nothings to the cowslips and four-leaf clovers.
It was a sweet summer night-day and she felt lost in the whole vibrancy of the moment, the way the flowers swayed and her hair swung and her eyelashes fluttered and how she wasn't….she wasn't….
She felt too young-old and old-young, a flaw in nature, a mistake.
"I thought you'd be here," his voice caught her in mid-sigh, her expression half aged, half naïve, perfect contradiction of life and death working their magic on a human soul.
He sat down next to her, all cinnamon and fresh rain-lightning-thunder.
She unconsciously moved closer to him, their arms brushing in a sudden static charge that managed to calm her nerves and quicken his heart.
She turned around and looked at him, not understanding why he was here, why –of all people, of all times –he would choose to visit her in this…this…. childhood daze.
It was a sweet summer breadth-breath and she felt her own breath catch as her senses were suddenly overwhelmed the mere range of colors that assaulted her eyes.
He was her god, his words alone curing her blindness.
And he was her beautiful god, in his angular-soft glory, his quiet-loud systematic-spontaneous presence completely overwhelming her, a precedent to every single happy-lovely-beautiful-darling-lovely moment she was ever ever ever going to have, and she didn't even know why.
She didn't even think he knew why.
It was just a fact, one they had both grown slowly –albeit reluctantly –to accept, tangled webs and wet silk their blood contract, their hearts the sacrifices.
His hand found hers through the symphony of fairy-crickets and she felt a bit of her relent like the old cliché whenever the boy loved a girl and the girl loved the boy back and they loved each other and god, this was such a twisted fairytale ending-beginning because happy endings never existed because everyone disappeared at the end anyway. She had tried to fight it, she really did, in her own way –oh so meaningless and insignificant in the end –because god, who was it going to help anyway? The world? The universe?
They were just two people in the universe, a black hole of thoughtless organisms and lack-of-life-ness.
They were all going to die in the end anyway.
What was their love going to do then?
The summer days would pass on without them, stark autumns would breeze on by, the winters would seep into their cold bones, and they would be gone.
The belief, the whole concept of the afterlife, what was it anyway?
Death –death was the end.
Death is the end.
An afterlife? Where in the universe would that exist?
Her reasoning? The body contained the mind. The body decayed. The mind would fight.
In the end, the mind would die with the body, a broken shell of fractured memories that would fade into nothingness.
Call her angsting, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to believe that she would be redeemed and she would live forever and she'd be happy after all of this, this messed up screwed up life that she kept messing up and screwing up in.
It was a sweet summer chock-full of memories, and he held her hand tightly, fingers curled around hers, the way the pads of their fingers sending shocks up their spines momentarily distracting her.
He leaned in closer, his head in the cradle of her mortal neck, their pulses racing and thoughts slowing until their breathing matched, perfect harmony, discordant pitches.
"I wish we had more time," he whisper-rasped, breath giving her shivers and chills and that warm fuzzy feeling she always had whenever he spoke.
"I do too," she murmured back, and rested her head on his, his dark hair tangling into her own and cheek against his forehead.
It was a sweet summer dawn-morning-night-twilight and they were in love.
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