Mended not healed
by Argentlife
Rating: G
Summary: On the day of Angel and Cordelia's wedding Buffy realizes something
all@characters other then me.
// Some complain because the roses have torns, some give thanks because the torns have roses."//
There is a stillness in the way she moves. White silk dancing behind her. Crimson red roses hold gentle in her hands.
I touched those roses today. The stems were full with tornes that burried themselfes into my skin. Deep. Making small drops of blood taint the white shirt I had on.
When she touched them her hands had not been harmed, the skin of her fingers had not been broken by the same torns that broke mine.
I watched them. For days I have simply watched. Everyone is busy, arranging that, arranging this. I only watch.
Small gestures, hands holding hands during dinner. Sweet kisses in the morning. Raging over small insignificant things. Always together, never alone.
When I watched I remembered. Remembered the love we once had shared. The tingle his touch had brought me. His skin against mine that faithful night. The promises of eternal love we had shared.
When I remembered that rage rored inside of me. Orange and red flames that burned my flesh. "Lies" I wanted to scream all over the place. But I never did and so I sit here today. Waiting for that white silk to pass me by.
Just waiting.
There is someone here. Clad in purple silk he has watched me. It bothers me. His eyes, they see me.
Soft tunes escapes the piano. I actually played the piano before. In my mind I go through the notes, c, f, d... They fill the air, whispers to the moon.
I am strong. Later I can be weak and cry for the love that once was mine. When the white silk passes me by I hold my head up high.
Everything is blurry. A voice speaks. Words of love and cherish tumbles out from someones mouth.
Two voices are heard. The first strong and masculine, the other pure woman, both voices pure happiness.
I lift my head up a little higher.
My heart breakes a little more, or maybe it mends. I look down on my hands. Light pink nail polish against scared skin. The wounds have healed.
Suddenly it's clear.
The white silk passes me again. This time matched with black.
The one in purple catches my eyes. Nods slightly and a little smile grace his face. He can see me.
And I'm glad.
I am there when she throws the bouquet. Watch as the crimson red flowers fly beneath the yellow moon.
Unwillingly a hand reaches out. Tries to catch it. Remember too late the torns. My hand falls to the side.
The wounds have healed.
There is no use in cutting them open again. No use at all.
Later I sit in the bar. Feel the tears sting my face. Feel the whiskey burn my throath and hopes that I will be able to forget the crimson red roses and their torns.
Not completly. Not the healed wounds. Just the moment when the torns stung my skin, drew my blood.
My journey is not complete. I'm mended not healed. But atleast I'm on my way. I close the door to the car. In the backseat the others chat easily.
I smile.
by Argentlife
Rating: G
Summary: On the day of Angel and Cordelia's wedding Buffy realizes something
all@characters other then me.
// Some complain because the roses have torns, some give thanks because the torns have roses."//
There is a stillness in the way she moves. White silk dancing behind her. Crimson red roses hold gentle in her hands.
I touched those roses today. The stems were full with tornes that burried themselfes into my skin. Deep. Making small drops of blood taint the white shirt I had on.
When she touched them her hands had not been harmed, the skin of her fingers had not been broken by the same torns that broke mine.
I watched them. For days I have simply watched. Everyone is busy, arranging that, arranging this. I only watch.
Small gestures, hands holding hands during dinner. Sweet kisses in the morning. Raging over small insignificant things. Always together, never alone.
When I watched I remembered. Remembered the love we once had shared. The tingle his touch had brought me. His skin against mine that faithful night. The promises of eternal love we had shared.
When I remembered that rage rored inside of me. Orange and red flames that burned my flesh. "Lies" I wanted to scream all over the place. But I never did and so I sit here today. Waiting for that white silk to pass me by.
Just waiting.
There is someone here. Clad in purple silk he has watched me. It bothers me. His eyes, they see me.
Soft tunes escapes the piano. I actually played the piano before. In my mind I go through the notes, c, f, d... They fill the air, whispers to the moon.
I am strong. Later I can be weak and cry for the love that once was mine. When the white silk passes me by I hold my head up high.
Everything is blurry. A voice speaks. Words of love and cherish tumbles out from someones mouth.
Two voices are heard. The first strong and masculine, the other pure woman, both voices pure happiness.
I lift my head up a little higher.
My heart breakes a little more, or maybe it mends. I look down on my hands. Light pink nail polish against scared skin. The wounds have healed.
Suddenly it's clear.
The white silk passes me again. This time matched with black.
The one in purple catches my eyes. Nods slightly and a little smile grace his face. He can see me.
And I'm glad.
I am there when she throws the bouquet. Watch as the crimson red flowers fly beneath the yellow moon.
Unwillingly a hand reaches out. Tries to catch it. Remember too late the torns. My hand falls to the side.
The wounds have healed.
There is no use in cutting them open again. No use at all.
Later I sit in the bar. Feel the tears sting my face. Feel the whiskey burn my throath and hopes that I will be able to forget the crimson red roses and their torns.
Not completly. Not the healed wounds. Just the moment when the torns stung my skin, drew my blood.
My journey is not complete. I'm mended not healed. But atleast I'm on my way. I close the door to the car. In the backseat the others chat easily.
I smile.