I Waited For You
By C.E. Warren
A/N: Boo. I'm a llama. Yes, I am. Don't argue with me. (The wise words of Xaviera Xylira. Go read her stuff. It's better than mine.)
I waited for so long. Years and years, I was sealed away, waiting to see your face again and hear your voice. I wanted to apologize. I wanted you to come back to me so that I'd be sure you really cared. I wanted that impossible little hope in the back of my mind to be the real, clear truth. I wanted to know that I meant something to you.
So I waited. I called to you through dreams. I told you how I'd been waiting. You'd be able to find me; you were clever like that. You always had been. I became more and more anxious with each day. I could feel the time growing nearer. You were coming back to me soon.
My anticipation mounted to anxiety as days passed. I was growing impatient. More and more, I dwelled on the times we'd been together, the way my heart had skipped a beat whenever I saw you. My anxiety turned to anger. Why had you left? You didn't give me enough time to tell you how I felt. You were always so stubborn, as if you were trying to make me fall in love with you. Well, it worked.
I made my predictions on the surface of water. I was always seeing things. When it rained, I could see faces in the puddles on the ground. I saw shapes moving about in glasses of water and ghosts in the rushing currents of the rivers. To predict a fortune, I would pour water into a bowl and look into it.
One day, I was bent over a bowl of water, trying to decipher the distorted images I saw on its surface. You came up behind me and put your hands on my shoulders, looking over me. You spoke softly, and your words echoed in my heart. "Water is something that must flow," you told me. "If you keep it trapped in such a little bowl, you'll never know the extents of the things you see."
So, I've followed your advice. When I called to you in the dreams, I was in a different dimension. The entrance to it was that old well where you'd given me that birthday present, the headpiece. Deep beneath the Earth, in that other dimension, there was a lot of room for my water. It was dark and cool, and the only dim light that could creep in came from above, where the entrance was. The gentle waves that I'd filled the space with spread out wide, and I saw more than I ever had in my life. I began to understand what you meant, how water had to flow and be free. I'd kept it confined to a small space by putting it in a bowl. And now, I was seeing you reflected in the water. Every drop that trickled from the wall and flowed around the floor reminded me of you. You were everywhere. I couldn't wait much longer for you to come back to me.
My anger was a sea of rage when I found that it had not been you who was coming closer. It was only a little girl. And yet, she possessed the Clow Cards and was accompanied by the guardian Cerberus. I asked of her what had become of you. She insisted that you were dead. I could not, would not believe that. You would not die. You would never die, not without returning to me. Or so my heart falsely hoped. You just would not die! Nor would you entrust the Clow Cards to a child, of that I was sure. She had great magical power, but you were smarter than that.
Were you not?
I decided that she must have done something to harm you. If she hadn't, she must have known what had become of you if she had the cards. But the more I attacked, the more she insisted that you were no longer alive. I captured her friends and nearly drowned her in my fury, and yet. I had begun to believe her.
I cried for you, for us. Remembered what you'd told me about the water, remembered the gift you'd given me for my birthday. I touched the headpiece, which sat neatly on my head. It was all I had left of you. If you were, in fact, dead, you had not bothered to return to me and you'd never know that I loved you.
The girl escaped the waters in which I'd trapped her and told me again of your death. She cried. I cried. We cried. And I began to fall apart. There was no more will left for me to go on. I was leaving to a better place, where my suffering would end. Perhaps I'd see you again there.
"There were some things. I wanted to say to him," I admitted quietly. I was gone then, and her friends were returned to her. She picked up the headpiece I'd left behind - the very one you'd given me. It crumbled in her hands. I had no need for it anymore; I was going to forget you. It seemed that perhaps. you hadn't loved me. You hadn't seen it worthwhile to come back to me, so I suppose that I'd meant nothing to you. It was hard to admit, and it pained me to think so. But I just wish that I could've said good-bye, or even just thank you. All I wanted was for you to know that I loved you. That's all I waited for.
A/N: Boo. I'm a llama. Yes, I am. Don't argue with me. (The wise words of Xaviera Xylira. Go read her stuff. It's better than mine.)
I waited for so long. Years and years, I was sealed away, waiting to see your face again and hear your voice. I wanted to apologize. I wanted you to come back to me so that I'd be sure you really cared. I wanted that impossible little hope in the back of my mind to be the real, clear truth. I wanted to know that I meant something to you.
So I waited. I called to you through dreams. I told you how I'd been waiting. You'd be able to find me; you were clever like that. You always had been. I became more and more anxious with each day. I could feel the time growing nearer. You were coming back to me soon.
My anticipation mounted to anxiety as days passed. I was growing impatient. More and more, I dwelled on the times we'd been together, the way my heart had skipped a beat whenever I saw you. My anxiety turned to anger. Why had you left? You didn't give me enough time to tell you how I felt. You were always so stubborn, as if you were trying to make me fall in love with you. Well, it worked.
I made my predictions on the surface of water. I was always seeing things. When it rained, I could see faces in the puddles on the ground. I saw shapes moving about in glasses of water and ghosts in the rushing currents of the rivers. To predict a fortune, I would pour water into a bowl and look into it.
One day, I was bent over a bowl of water, trying to decipher the distorted images I saw on its surface. You came up behind me and put your hands on my shoulders, looking over me. You spoke softly, and your words echoed in my heart. "Water is something that must flow," you told me. "If you keep it trapped in such a little bowl, you'll never know the extents of the things you see."
So, I've followed your advice. When I called to you in the dreams, I was in a different dimension. The entrance to it was that old well where you'd given me that birthday present, the headpiece. Deep beneath the Earth, in that other dimension, there was a lot of room for my water. It was dark and cool, and the only dim light that could creep in came from above, where the entrance was. The gentle waves that I'd filled the space with spread out wide, and I saw more than I ever had in my life. I began to understand what you meant, how water had to flow and be free. I'd kept it confined to a small space by putting it in a bowl. And now, I was seeing you reflected in the water. Every drop that trickled from the wall and flowed around the floor reminded me of you. You were everywhere. I couldn't wait much longer for you to come back to me.
My anger was a sea of rage when I found that it had not been you who was coming closer. It was only a little girl. And yet, she possessed the Clow Cards and was accompanied by the guardian Cerberus. I asked of her what had become of you. She insisted that you were dead. I could not, would not believe that. You would not die. You would never die, not without returning to me. Or so my heart falsely hoped. You just would not die! Nor would you entrust the Clow Cards to a child, of that I was sure. She had great magical power, but you were smarter than that.
Were you not?
I decided that she must have done something to harm you. If she hadn't, she must have known what had become of you if she had the cards. But the more I attacked, the more she insisted that you were no longer alive. I captured her friends and nearly drowned her in my fury, and yet. I had begun to believe her.
I cried for you, for us. Remembered what you'd told me about the water, remembered the gift you'd given me for my birthday. I touched the headpiece, which sat neatly on my head. It was all I had left of you. If you were, in fact, dead, you had not bothered to return to me and you'd never know that I loved you.
The girl escaped the waters in which I'd trapped her and told me again of your death. She cried. I cried. We cried. And I began to fall apart. There was no more will left for me to go on. I was leaving to a better place, where my suffering would end. Perhaps I'd see you again there.
"There were some things. I wanted to say to him," I admitted quietly. I was gone then, and her friends were returned to her. She picked up the headpiece I'd left behind - the very one you'd given me. It crumbled in her hands. I had no need for it anymore; I was going to forget you. It seemed that perhaps. you hadn't loved me. You hadn't seen it worthwhile to come back to me, so I suppose that I'd meant nothing to you. It was hard to admit, and it pained me to think so. But I just wish that I could've said good-bye, or even just thank you. All I wanted was for you to know that I loved you. That's all I waited for.