ᴀᴜɢᴜsᴛɪɴᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ⁞×
[today i have been the first to run]
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date of breakdown: December 13, 2011
i don't own APH or Romance Is... by Lights.
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there's a song she sings softly to herself on repeat on days like this, and it talks of broken window frames and poison. belarus knows, better than anyone else, her flaws and faults. she knows she's clingy, and she had never pretended to offer an excuse. and then she wonders if that makes a difference.
there's a distant memory of her sister and brother. they sat in the snow. it covered the field as far as they could see, serving as a picnic blanket for a queen, a knight, and their princess. she had been their princess. they spoke of the distant future, and it was beautiful. they shivered in the cold while the queen told stories of the world and how they'd see it, together, one day.
'little ones,' she said, 'this is not just a story. this is our future. do you see it?'
the knight and the princess would always look up when their elder sister asked this. giggling up at the falling snow, the princess had always thought that each flake looked like a different forever the three of them would live.
what
a
joke.
she still likes to watch the snow. it's a completely masochistic thing, to willingly subject herself to the kind of ache that she feels in her chest. it hurts when she remembers, and she only remembers more. it's probably also masochistic to keep chasing after a knight who doesn't like her that way, and to hover around the queen like a little nuisance.
she's been with the queen more than usual lately, and she knows she's getting on ukraine's nerves but she has to know everything. it's the way she's always been and this is not an excuse. belarus has no more excuses. she sees official papers on the desk, and she realizes they don't concern anything she knows about ukraine's issues.
(and she knows a lot. she follows her siblings' news when she can't stalk them physically.
'sad little girl, am i not?')
she barely resists the urge to ask, because she always asks, and if the queen does not offer, she has no right to know.
she leaves before her sister could give a kind, subtle suggestion that maybe she should get back to her work and doesn't she have some unfinished papers to sign? because she wants to be the first to want to leave, for once.
her bench is her haven and she returns to it day after day.
'have i no pride left?' she whispers to the snow.
the knight hesitantly asks to meet up after weeks of absence from her life. the last time she'd seen him, he'd promised to invite her somewhere the next week, an invitation that never came. belarus jumps on the offer with a nervous heart and cautious words. but she is busy and he is busy and it kills when she admits they may not be free at the same time. then russia makes it work, and she's falling again.
as if she didn't give enough of herself away to—
'i have no pride left.'
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You're three sides of my eight-sided circle.
Two lovers, juxtaposed with doorways.
Broken window frames colour her eyes in with black lines.
Let it all run down, let it all run down.
It's one way to opt for a horizon, 'cause in my opinion,
it's one way to say we're abandoned and we don't belong here at all.
There's no explanation or forewarning underneath all the crimson linings.
We approach the streets with a clear conscience. We'll survive;
let it all fall down, let it all fall down.
It's one way to opt for a horizon, and not to mention,
it's one way to say we're abandoned and we don't belong here at all.
And romance just is...
Slow it all down, the damage is done.
Play the music loud, don't make a sound.
Let's raise a toast to a sad story and a dirty cup—and a dirty cup.
You made it...you made it hurt so bad.
You made it hurt so bad.
With a little poison we can burn this whole place down, to the ground again.
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