Love.
__________________
She loves him.
She loves him with everything that she is: heart, body and soul. She loves him to the very depth and breadth and height of her being. She loves him unconditionally, and deeply, and unconsciously, with every beat of her heart, and every breath that she takes. She loves him, though she isn't sure why. It's always just been that way, as far as her memory can take her. Into the past, when she was younger, all there is now is a black void, and into it he came. He is all she remembers now. All she wants. All she cares for. The reason for the existence of her very being.
She loves him. She loved him from the first moment that she met him, all golden and shining, the exact opposite of her own countenance. She loved the cocksure element of his personality, the self- assuredness, which meant nothing and nobody got in his way. She became enamored of the power that he possessed, the "don't mess with me" attitude, and tried to get him to notice her. She slowly maneuvered her way into his good books, and into his circle. It took some time, but then, she had plenty of that. Eventually, she called him friend.
She loves him. Even through all the troubles and turmoil, through the fights and the blood and the sweat and the tears. Through the separations, and the heartbreaking wrenches, when he was not himself, but a mere shadow. A puppet under another greater control. His power was still there, the white knight on a fiery steed, breaking down everything in his path.
She loves him even though he was misguided.
She loves him, even though he lost.
And now, after all had been and gone, she still loves him, even more so than before. There is nothing else. They live in squalor in a small motel room, the posse, reunited. She works hard, holding down two jobs to pay rent due. She has grown paler, weaker, but still the flames of love burn strong inside of her.
She loves him, though he is not the same person that she fell for. He is nothing like the man that he once was. Character traits still remain, the stubbornness, the arrogance, and the sheer physical beauty. But gone is the god of old.
He pouts, he sulks, he screams. He refuses to work, claiming that people are out to get him, because of his actions in the past. They all have been pardoned fully, relieved of all responsibility, yet he is not the same, mind twisted nastily beyond recognition.
He is harsh, and cruel, not letting anyone near. Glaring, screaming shouting. Paranoia and violence are now a way of life, along with the alcohol. He drinks constantly, a way to cope with the things he did. An outlet. He doesn't realize that he wasn't in control then, just as he is not in control now. He doesn't realize that she hurts for the same reasons, but with more need, as she was fully aware of what she was doing. What she was sacrificing.
But still, she loves him, so she puts up with the foibles of a drunken man. She works double shifts at the café, and scrubs plates until her already white fingers are wrinkled and dry. She brings home a wage packet, and he squanders it on cheap booze, and cheaper women.
She loves him, and it kills her to see him like this, wasting his life. She tries to be what he wants, to make everything right again. But nothing will ever be the same, days of old are gone.
She loves him, but she hates him. He brings home conquests, one night stands, to try and fill the empty void inside him. The raucous noise fills her ears night after night. She covers her head with the thin pillow, buries herself under the sheets and cries as if her heart will break.
When he fails on his evenings out, he comes to her instead. After all, she loves him, and would give him anything he wants to make him happy again. He comes, and twists her body into positions to give him gratification, never gentle, never caring. He sneers and snarls, and never looks her in the eye. She hurts, body and soul, but she loves him. He calls other girl's names, but never hers, faces superimposed over her pale, tired one. She dare not complain, after all, the alternative is much worse. She savors the closeness, hides the pain behind a thin veil of dreams, that he loves her back. Once, she called his name, but her face was slapped. She never called again.
She loves him.
He fucks her.
He doesn't care for her, though she changes her life for him. He told her that her voice repulsed him, that her features were grotesque, that nobody would ever want her.
She loves him so she hides her face, speaks even less, hides away from the world under clothes that are sizes too big. Her already tiny frame wasted, as she tries to hide from the planet.
She loves him, and there is nothing else left in her world, but him. Everything that made her unique has been purged, leaving only him. Her hope for a better life fast diminishing, her self-control, her confidence, already gone. All that remains is the net cloak of fantasies created by her feverish mind, hiding the true horror of her existence.
He doesn't love her…
But she loves him.
……………………………………….
Hey guys, me again with another depressing piece. One of these days I'll get happy, I tell ya. Anyways, as usual, comments in any way shape or form appreciated. Squaresoft owns all the good stuff: I just dabble.
Oh… horror or horrors, I'm considering a sequel to this? Opinions?
__________________
She loves him.
She loves him with everything that she is: heart, body and soul. She loves him to the very depth and breadth and height of her being. She loves him unconditionally, and deeply, and unconsciously, with every beat of her heart, and every breath that she takes. She loves him, though she isn't sure why. It's always just been that way, as far as her memory can take her. Into the past, when she was younger, all there is now is a black void, and into it he came. He is all she remembers now. All she wants. All she cares for. The reason for the existence of her very being.
She loves him. She loved him from the first moment that she met him, all golden and shining, the exact opposite of her own countenance. She loved the cocksure element of his personality, the self- assuredness, which meant nothing and nobody got in his way. She became enamored of the power that he possessed, the "don't mess with me" attitude, and tried to get him to notice her. She slowly maneuvered her way into his good books, and into his circle. It took some time, but then, she had plenty of that. Eventually, she called him friend.
She loves him. Even through all the troubles and turmoil, through the fights and the blood and the sweat and the tears. Through the separations, and the heartbreaking wrenches, when he was not himself, but a mere shadow. A puppet under another greater control. His power was still there, the white knight on a fiery steed, breaking down everything in his path.
She loves him even though he was misguided.
She loves him, even though he lost.
And now, after all had been and gone, she still loves him, even more so than before. There is nothing else. They live in squalor in a small motel room, the posse, reunited. She works hard, holding down two jobs to pay rent due. She has grown paler, weaker, but still the flames of love burn strong inside of her.
She loves him, though he is not the same person that she fell for. He is nothing like the man that he once was. Character traits still remain, the stubbornness, the arrogance, and the sheer physical beauty. But gone is the god of old.
He pouts, he sulks, he screams. He refuses to work, claiming that people are out to get him, because of his actions in the past. They all have been pardoned fully, relieved of all responsibility, yet he is not the same, mind twisted nastily beyond recognition.
He is harsh, and cruel, not letting anyone near. Glaring, screaming shouting. Paranoia and violence are now a way of life, along with the alcohol. He drinks constantly, a way to cope with the things he did. An outlet. He doesn't realize that he wasn't in control then, just as he is not in control now. He doesn't realize that she hurts for the same reasons, but with more need, as she was fully aware of what she was doing. What she was sacrificing.
But still, she loves him, so she puts up with the foibles of a drunken man. She works double shifts at the café, and scrubs plates until her already white fingers are wrinkled and dry. She brings home a wage packet, and he squanders it on cheap booze, and cheaper women.
She loves him, and it kills her to see him like this, wasting his life. She tries to be what he wants, to make everything right again. But nothing will ever be the same, days of old are gone.
She loves him, but she hates him. He brings home conquests, one night stands, to try and fill the empty void inside him. The raucous noise fills her ears night after night. She covers her head with the thin pillow, buries herself under the sheets and cries as if her heart will break.
When he fails on his evenings out, he comes to her instead. After all, she loves him, and would give him anything he wants to make him happy again. He comes, and twists her body into positions to give him gratification, never gentle, never caring. He sneers and snarls, and never looks her in the eye. She hurts, body and soul, but she loves him. He calls other girl's names, but never hers, faces superimposed over her pale, tired one. She dare not complain, after all, the alternative is much worse. She savors the closeness, hides the pain behind a thin veil of dreams, that he loves her back. Once, she called his name, but her face was slapped. She never called again.
She loves him.
He fucks her.
He doesn't care for her, though she changes her life for him. He told her that her voice repulsed him, that her features were grotesque, that nobody would ever want her.
She loves him so she hides her face, speaks even less, hides away from the world under clothes that are sizes too big. Her already tiny frame wasted, as she tries to hide from the planet.
She loves him, and there is nothing else left in her world, but him. Everything that made her unique has been purged, leaving only him. Her hope for a better life fast diminishing, her self-control, her confidence, already gone. All that remains is the net cloak of fantasies created by her feverish mind, hiding the true horror of her existence.
He doesn't love her…
But she loves him.
……………………………………….
Hey guys, me again with another depressing piece. One of these days I'll get happy, I tell ya. Anyways, as usual, comments in any way shape or form appreciated. Squaresoft owns all the good stuff: I just dabble.
Oh… horror or horrors, I'm considering a sequel to this? Opinions?