as I powder my nose, he will powder his guns
Your hands make swift movements over your cheeks. A rhythm inaudible created as you try to make your skin even, to hide all imperfections because that's what you do. Cheeks, chin, forehead, nose. Everything that makes you look imperfect should be covered up.
It is a bit of an obsession for you. Perfection. A unhealthy one, but you can't help but wanting to fight for perfection. A perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect body. A perfect life. But that seems impossible, so you just focus on the things that you can make perfect, because it is all you can do to lessen the restless feeling that seems to take over your life.
He watches tenderly, the silence almost beautiful so calm. Calmness is rare those days, even between you two. In the reflection of your vanity, you see his eyes on you. You turn around and answer his stare, his grey eyes meeting yours.
"Do you have to go?" You ask, putting down the make up brush and getting up. It takes you three steps to reach him.
He kisses your head and nods, slight sadness present in the small movement. You want to kiss him, want to hold him so he can't go, so he can't go to the war that hunts your nightmares each night. So you do.
and if I try to get close, he is already gone
Standing on your tip toes, you kiss him. Your arms find their way to his waist, pulling him closer. You don't want to let go, you don't ever want to let go. But he pulls back and disappointment fills you up. A moment of silence passes by, your head so close to his. You feel your eyes flutter to his lips again and that's when he lets you go from the embrace.
"They're waiting." He says, wrapping his finger around his wand.
You nod,ask the question you always ask before he leaves. "Will I you at dinner?"
"You will." He promises, touching your jaw tenderly before leaving.
It's an empty promise, one that you know he can't keep. But you still feel reassured, because Lucius is a man of his word. And if he promises to be there for dinner, he will be. And that's what keeps you going. Day in, day out.
don't know where he's going, don't know where he's been
Every night he comes home for dinner like he promises every morning. Sometimes wounded, bruised, but he is always there and you are always there to fix him up.
Your questions remain unanswered, his face telling you that now is not the time. It never is. It's frustrating, because you want to know what happens when he's out there. What happens when he is gone, but in stead of telling you, he creates more questions, more things you worry about.
They say ignorance is best, but you don't feel like it is. It's frustrating, scary.
You need to know what it is that scars him, but he won't tell you. He wants to pretend things are alright, because pretence will always be one of the things you are both good at. But you are tired. Tired of pretending that everything is perfect, because nothing is. Tired of him not letting you in, of him wanting to talk about superficial things.
Trust is important in a relationship, or so they claim, and you don't feel trusted. You feel as if something may be wrong with you, because he doesn't seem to be able to trust you with the truth.
he is restless at night, he has horrible dreams
so we lay in the dark, 'cause we've got nothing to say
just the beating of hearts like two drums in the grey
You both say nothing, but you both know the other is awake. His arms are wrapped around you, protecting you from anything that could possibly hurt you, but you know he's the one that needs such protection.
You feel that he's tense, that he's restless, worried, but you don't ask him why. You just lace your fingers together with his, to let him know that you know he's awake. He squeezes your hand ever so gently and you just lay there, feeling his body heat unite with yours.
There is nothing you can say, nothing you want to say because the silence is peaceful. The way you two are lying together, fitting like two puzzle pieces, is calming. In that moment, all you need is him to be there, to hold you. To tell you without words that he's there and he's not going to let you go.
And he won't until his eyes are closed and he is no longer awake. And that's when gets lost and you get lost yourself. Because he's dreaming about things you cannot see, things you will never see.
He clutches the sheets, his fists balled. He pants and you sit up and look at him for a short moment. You put your hands around one of his fists and beg him to wake up, to stop this, to stop having this nightmare because slowly you start to feel like you're in one too.
And sometimes he wakes up and he looks lost, so lost, and you want to ask him why he looks that way. But he always closes his eyes again, shutting you out.
don't know what we're doing, don't know what we've done
but the fire is coming, so I think we should run
I think we should run, run, run