Author's Note: Okay this is an entirely spontaneous decision to write this. Don't worry I haven't abandoned my other story. I've never been great at short stories so bear with me. I just felt like writing something.
Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize isn't mine. However, if you understand English and some of the words look familiar that's because some old guy created them way back when the dinosaurs ruled the earth. (Don't bother pointing out that there were no humans alive during that time period.) This story is told by me so things work how I want them to work. Shoot ,I think my disclaimer is longer than my Author's Note.
He sat there waiting for what would never be. What would never come. She was elusive. Cunning, incredibly so. On her though, cunning was not malicious. Sure she thought nothing of his heart. Everyday she hurt him. Taking away a little piece. Never to return it. Never to make him whole.
He sat there staring out at the desolate landscape. It was as alone as he was. Empty, but only because it was filled with nothing full. Sand stretched in every direction. The sky. There it stood in all its glory. The one redeeming factor of this wasteland.
Perhaps it was not a wasteland. After all, it was occupied by people. But ignorant people they were. Mere children. Not worth anything. Not even a glance. For what good were childish frivolities? He was a man. A man. He guffawed at the irony. He'd grown up. Something he swore that he'd never do. He'd become just like the people he hated. Long gone were the days of innocent childhood. Replaced by the bitterness that came with understanding the order of things.
The sky was blood red, with just a hint of yellow and orange spun together. So beautiful it was. Though it looked as though a child could have painted it. He stared at it. Letting its brightness blind him. As he had once let love do. The more he stared at it the more he realized. A child could not have painted it. It was far too casually, yet orderly thrown together. A child could not grasp its spontaneity.
Yet an adult could admire it. If he stopped long enough to look at it. Only the open-minded could see it's fantastic lure. I'm thinking about the sky. As though it has the answers to life's big questions. He saw the thin spreading of gray clouds accentuate the yellow, making it seem bolder, yet not foolishly so. Fools, how he laughed at them. But he was a fool himself. 'Fools: people who love.' Or so one bitter and spiteful person had said.
But was he not right? What does foolishness get one? Hurt? Stuck in a desolate landscape? Surrounded by idiots. So wrapped up that they were not bothered by pain. Yet they each felt it. He saw it behind their eyes. Children's eyes. All seeing, yet all forgiving. They saw everything, yet they took it in stead. Nothing was too hard. No conquest too daring. No challenge insurmountable. Love- never-ending.
How I long for the days of my childhood past. Wish do I, for the sanctuary and comfort of my parents arms. For the days when I could sit upon my father's lap and ask questions so much more meaningful than I understood. Ahh questions. Wonderful things of the past. At least ones that came with honest answers were.
I'm so tired of being told that I can change the world when the world won't let me do so. The unfairness of it all. 'Fair is a place that you go to in the summer.' How wrong you are my friend. I am not at the fair. Nor will I ever visit the fair. I live in the real world now. I have no time for childish frivolities. No time to go back to experience what I have missed. I've grown up.
Yet, I'm no grown up. I have yet to earn that right. Or is it a curse? You say with age comes wisdom. How wrong you are. With wisdom comes age. When you begin to see things as they are, that is when the ending begins. Or perhaps childhood is the beginning. In which case, the beginning ends. I was a child and you wanted a man. Is this what you wanted? I think not. For now I am bitter, resentful. Too good for enjoyable pastimes.
Perhaps I shall go play golf? Yes a wonderful muggle sport for men. They all get to talk about stocks, and work, and other boring yet incredibly manly things. They can discuss the wife and kids. They can complain about how they wish they were still bachelors. Yes, wonderful isn't it? Oh I could listen to them complain for hours about their jobs. They make all this money. But spend too much time at work to spend it.
Work. Why don't people choose jobs that they enjoy? Money's not everything. People who do what they love are generally happier. Family. Yes, family should be a priority. If you can complain endlessly about your wife, then you married the wrong woman. I still believe that you and I are meant to be. That is NOT a childish frivolity.
You complete me. In this desert we call life you fulfill me. I tried to grow up. I tried to be perfect for you but it didn't work. I just became bitter. I refuse to change to be what you want, when I am already what you need. I know you better than you know yourself. Only your pride stops you from admitting it. You are so proud. Yet with it comes the fire that entices me. It burns within you. Lighting up your smile. Filling the room with something other than darkness.
You say I'm shallow. That life is a game. That I am a child hiding behind a mask. My shallowness comes from pampering. I know I am unbearable. I have only myself to blame. My game is not life, but figuring out it's meaning. You are not a prize to be won by winning. I am sorry if you believe as much. My mask, though I hate to admit it, is my safety. I do not have the courage to show the world who I am. For I fear rejection. Not yours, for I have always had it. But those who you deem unimportant. Those who do not know me. Those who merely know my face.
I will ask you once more. And it shall be the last time. No, sets me free. Yes, completes me. Right now either option is fine. Just end this torment. It is not one you inflict but one I set upon myself. I have not the strength to forever wait. Though my love is eternal. My heart can not wonder so long. It shall break from the pain. I am ready to let go. Though it pains me to do so. I hope that someday my unending love will mean something to you.
You are not a crush. An obsession. Nor an infatuation. You are my love. The flame that lights the fire beneath me. You smile radiates happiness. Yet your fire does not burn me. Your words do not break me. I have my friends. They have always picked me up. It's not fair to ask them to do it again. They have always stood beside me. And though I deeply wish that I shall forever lay beside you, it is not my choice to make. Your heart is not mine to give.
You never make me feel good. You never encourage me, so my love seems unjustified. Yet you do something others do not. You honestly tell me my flaws. Yet unlike my friends, you are unwilling to forgive them. Unwilling to forgive me for who I am. Yet I ask, though perhaps not literally, why are my imperfections not acceptable? Not alright when yours are. Leave me today, if you will not love me tomorrow.
If I can not have you forever, then I wish never to have you. My heart can not heal if I have you and lose you. I wish to die before you, so I never have to feel the pain of living without you. For even if I never have you, you will always have a piece of my heart. This letter, though you will never read it is not to you. It is to me. I must tell myself what others will not. They say give up. They say to forget you. That you're not worth it. But you are. And perhaps, because I love you, that is why I have not lost faith in you.
You love me. Though you will never tell me yourself. If you read this letter, you would understand me. But to be honest with you, I do not trust you with my whole heart. I will not give it to you until you earn it. I trust your heart, but not your mind. You listen to it far too much. You will be happier if you just take the plunge every once in a while. Take your nose out of your books and for once, live the things that you read about. But alas, I am not talking to you.
If you ever read this then I have given myself to you completely. There will be nothing, no secrets left between us. You must learn to trust me more than you trust yourself. I will protect you. My friends will die for me, but I ask you to do the hardest thing of all. LIVE for me. Love me like tomorrow won't come. And live as though we have forever. Let no task be too small. Find time to smell every flower.
If I had forever, I wouldn't love you. It is only because I can lose you that I love you. In forever we can be just what the other wants. But we could never be what the other NEEDS. I wish to be a child, and so I shall. I will be naive. I will fight battles that the odds say I cannot win. Yet I shall emerge victorious. Merely because I believed that I could.
I shall have causes. And I shall die for them. You want to know why? Because one day we shall meet again in heaven. We shall be together. And we shall watch forever unfold before our eyes. It will be perfect. Only because it shall have it's imperfections.
I love myself. Isn't it funny. Everybody else loves who they think I am; yet I love who I know I am. I cry sometimes. Though I'll never tell THEM that. It makes me feel free. More free then even flying. I'm the fool who fell in love. And I will die because of it. I will die for it. You see after me, forever, fools will die for love. In their wake will be left those who were inspired by the sacrifice. And because of those people's sacrifices, our sacrifices, love will never die. It will be forever. Love will be around for all eternity.
I fear not death, nor pain. I merely fear others pain. I can bear my own, yet I seem incapable of bearing others. There is the sky. It's BEAUTIFUL. Yet, not breath takingly so. It's imperfect. It's messy. It's fading. But it will always come again tomorrow. And it's never the same. Everybody sees the sky differently. To me it represents my life. Ever changing, ever growing, eternally there. I shall leave my mark. I shall be remembered. By whom I don't care. Just as long as I live on. I want my legend to be greater than I was. I want to be remembered as the world's best imperfect person to somebody. I want my child or children or grandchildren, or all my descendants to remember me as a great person. A person who is proud of them when they fly. And even prouder when they fall and get up again.
To the world I leave this. Not my will, but my legacy. Contained on one piece of paper. Written underneath one blood red sky, in the middle of the world. On a day, in a year that doesn't really matter. For who I am and who I've been is unimportant, all that matters is that you read this, then reflect. When you understand it pass it on. There are many in need of this though I'm not sure what it is. Dear reader, or perhaps just dear me, good luck in life. Good luck with love. Never forget your friends. Don't be afraid to lose. And always rise again. To you, or perhaps me I leave my legacy.
Author's Note: I'm not sure exactly where this came from. Something just told me to sit down and write. Not to think not to plan just to write. Wow, apparently I had some stuff I needed to get off my chest. Review. Though for once it doesn't really matter. This is the best thing I've ever written and that means a lot to me. Oh just in case you're wondering the person telling this, writing this what ever is James. The quote about the fair is actually one I borrowed from a friend of mine; she got it from her 1st or 2nd grade teacher. But the quote is actually supposed to be from Lily in the story. The bitter, spiteful, person who said 'Fools are people, who love,' I envisioned as Snape.