Mississippi

L. M. Masquerade

Hey-looo! Long time no see, yeah? Fhost hose of you who still remember me, you guys rock! For those who don't, get to know me! I've been told I can be "obnoxious"! :D *shrugs* Anyways, here's a friendly little oneshot/drabble thing I wrote while listening to Train's epic song "Mississippi".

All credits go where due. If you recognize it, it's not mine. If you don't, it's probably still not mine.

Her hair swung from side to side as she meandered across the grass. talking to her friends. Her mouth opened in a laugh and her green eyes sparkled. She was his crush, his love-at-first-sight, his soul mate, his match made in heaven, his universe. His everything.

He supposed it was because of her eyes, deep emerald green. Her eyes were the windows to her soul. Her every emotion was reflected in them and the hatred and revulsion he saw when she looked at him sickened him. Weakened him. He hated himself for it, but could never stop the weakness in his knees when he saw her eyes shining with happiness. Her eyes were almond-shaped. She was allergic to almonds. He loved them. The emerald in her eyes reminded him of the necklace his mother wore, a small, delicate pair of silver heads holding a tiny emerald. The necklace his mother had given to him, the night before his parents went on that fateful mission. They had never returned. Her eyes represented love, represented sorrow, represented her soul. Yes, it could have been her eyes.

Or it could be her hair. Her hair was dark red and glossy. Like the blood tying him to life. Her hair was enrapturing, enlightening, elegant as she walked from him after destroying him time and time again. Her hair, wavy and smooth, was soft. When the light caught it, it was his ray of sun, his light at the end of the tunnel, his candle in a storm. When it was night, and the shadows stretched long and cold, it was his freezing wasteland, his full moon, his Cruciatus. Yes, it may have been her hair.

It may have been her laugh. Her laugh, which echoes throughout the empty corridors of the castle. It was deep and rough and came from her very soul. It was different, nice. It was his foghorn, his cathedral bells, his symphony orchestra. It hurt him, to know it wasn't him that was making her laugh. He wanted it to be. He wanted it to be him inspiring that laugh and always would. For it could have been her laugh.

His flower, his obsession, his addiction. His drug, his alcohol, his poison. Lily Evans was his lifeblood. She was his river. His Mississippi.

Hey, I never promised y'all it'd be long! It is, after all, a drabble/oneshot smush-up. :) Please review! It's my Mississippi!

Yours sincerely,

Lily Marie, L. M. Masquerade