A/N: Hey. This is just a one-parter thingey; I am not sure if I like it
so let me know what you think. The first 'part' is somewhat Rory's point
of view; the second is Jess' point of view. Well, enjoy. (hopefully)...
"You say that I treat you like a book on a shelf. I don't take you out that often, because I know that I've completed you and that's why you are here. That is the reason you stay here. How awful that must feel...now I write when I'm away letters that you never read. You said to go explore those other women, the geography of their bodies, but there's just one map you'll need. You are a boomerang, you'll see. You will return to me. You will. You? Will. You? Will..." (Conor Oberst)
But don't you know that the welcome you daydream of is so far beyond your reach, sailing its great implausible ship through the stars, avoiding all meteors and colossal celestial rocks?
You have just navigated your misshapen sailboat into the asteroid that is the past...your past, my past, our past...pastness, times of yore in a much more starry galaxy. You had eyes of stars...I cannot recognize them any longer...is that you beneath this?
....................................
She is the only book on a shelf made of wicker, sometimes thick and sometimes as skeletal as the carcass of the sun. Every now and then the print is fine, precise, barely legible, a great black ocean of characters spread across the page. Sometimes, the print is so large and solid that each leaf can be a basin for just one word, one piece, one conviction. Every second the words are shifting, moving, disappearing and reappearing and bonding with the pliable, crisp papyrus. No matter...I will always read it.
When her mind dwells on my presence in her life, she is plainly composed of the perception that my ship and her ship are racing, and mine is slower and smaller. Her vessel glides past mine, through the gravity-defying pipes of comets and down the unbounded black corkscrew. This task of leaving me behind is not done without some hardship, some damage and stormy weather, but done. I can only daydream, a smaller one that than of my salutation, of her thoughts after that...her daydreams.
Creating the asteroid is much easier than breaking it apart into the pieces you wish it had remained in. Asteroid is a harsh word, frank, heavy on the tongue...not spoken until it must be dealt with, faced.
And my front, my personality, it is my asteroid. It hurdles past my eyes each day, circling my body, using force much like the one that spins the earth to coerce me into staying as I am. I am the static character in a novel...always spinning, twirling, twisting, never stopping. The whirling, chaos, disorder, insolence ...it never stops. It is continual. And I choose to be static, standing back and watching it spin, counting this asteroid's revolutions like an ailing pastime.
The mutiny of my persona feeds my anger, my disorganized way of going about thinking, my desire to tie the race with her ship. I think I hate this asteroid, I think I want to break it apart when it comes around my direction again, passes my eyes, my crooked eyebrows...
I think I would like to be the dynamic character...the co-protagonist. I think I would like to have one ship, not two, and no pursuit...just gliding. Two people together, not seperated by walls and fallacies.
I think I would like to repent, solicit forgiveness, be on my knees. I think knees are all I deserve right now. I know I don't deserve the love part of the ship, the hull of it, the reason for its life...but maybe her love is still there. Deserving has often been cast aside for incapability to hold back. Asking...begging...making her drop her anchor might be enough to keep her ship still...that is what I hope.
After so much time, I have finally crashed my misshapen sailboat into the asteroid that is the past...any past from any view from any star...and I hope the damage can be repaired.
I sit outside her house, and my car is my ship tonight. Is it fast enough? I hope not, because I do not plan on driving it away again. Will she let me in?
"Now I'm...hoping that the timing's right. When the planets will align, there will be no planets to align...just those little painted marbles spinning senseless through an endless, black sky." (Conor Oberst)
.......................................
A/N: Please review! Even a single one is always appreciated. I will give you cookies!!!
A/N: Both song lyric excerpts are from the Bright Eyes album "Lifted: Or The Story Is In The Soil, Keep Your Ear To The Ground." The first is from the song "You Will"; the second from "Balance Beam" (music and lyrics by Conor Oberst).
"You say that I treat you like a book on a shelf. I don't take you out that often, because I know that I've completed you and that's why you are here. That is the reason you stay here. How awful that must feel...now I write when I'm away letters that you never read. You said to go explore those other women, the geography of their bodies, but there's just one map you'll need. You are a boomerang, you'll see. You will return to me. You will. You? Will. You? Will..." (Conor Oberst)
But don't you know that the welcome you daydream of is so far beyond your reach, sailing its great implausible ship through the stars, avoiding all meteors and colossal celestial rocks?
You have just navigated your misshapen sailboat into the asteroid that is the past...your past, my past, our past...pastness, times of yore in a much more starry galaxy. You had eyes of stars...I cannot recognize them any longer...is that you beneath this?
....................................
She is the only book on a shelf made of wicker, sometimes thick and sometimes as skeletal as the carcass of the sun. Every now and then the print is fine, precise, barely legible, a great black ocean of characters spread across the page. Sometimes, the print is so large and solid that each leaf can be a basin for just one word, one piece, one conviction. Every second the words are shifting, moving, disappearing and reappearing and bonding with the pliable, crisp papyrus. No matter...I will always read it.
When her mind dwells on my presence in her life, she is plainly composed of the perception that my ship and her ship are racing, and mine is slower and smaller. Her vessel glides past mine, through the gravity-defying pipes of comets and down the unbounded black corkscrew. This task of leaving me behind is not done without some hardship, some damage and stormy weather, but done. I can only daydream, a smaller one that than of my salutation, of her thoughts after that...her daydreams.
Creating the asteroid is much easier than breaking it apart into the pieces you wish it had remained in. Asteroid is a harsh word, frank, heavy on the tongue...not spoken until it must be dealt with, faced.
And my front, my personality, it is my asteroid. It hurdles past my eyes each day, circling my body, using force much like the one that spins the earth to coerce me into staying as I am. I am the static character in a novel...always spinning, twirling, twisting, never stopping. The whirling, chaos, disorder, insolence ...it never stops. It is continual. And I choose to be static, standing back and watching it spin, counting this asteroid's revolutions like an ailing pastime.
The mutiny of my persona feeds my anger, my disorganized way of going about thinking, my desire to tie the race with her ship. I think I hate this asteroid, I think I want to break it apart when it comes around my direction again, passes my eyes, my crooked eyebrows...
I think I would like to be the dynamic character...the co-protagonist. I think I would like to have one ship, not two, and no pursuit...just gliding. Two people together, not seperated by walls and fallacies.
I think I would like to repent, solicit forgiveness, be on my knees. I think knees are all I deserve right now. I know I don't deserve the love part of the ship, the hull of it, the reason for its life...but maybe her love is still there. Deserving has often been cast aside for incapability to hold back. Asking...begging...making her drop her anchor might be enough to keep her ship still...that is what I hope.
After so much time, I have finally crashed my misshapen sailboat into the asteroid that is the past...any past from any view from any star...and I hope the damage can be repaired.
I sit outside her house, and my car is my ship tonight. Is it fast enough? I hope not, because I do not plan on driving it away again. Will she let me in?
"Now I'm...hoping that the timing's right. When the planets will align, there will be no planets to align...just those little painted marbles spinning senseless through an endless, black sky." (Conor Oberst)
.......................................
A/N: Please review! Even a single one is always appreciated. I will give you cookies!!!
A/N: Both song lyric excerpts are from the Bright Eyes album "Lifted: Or The Story Is In The Soil, Keep Your Ear To The Ground." The first is from the song "You Will"; the second from "Balance Beam" (music and lyrics by Conor Oberst).