Untitled (or, Reminescence on the Life of Gold)
Spike reflects on Julia and her (impact on his) life. Short, one-shot. SpikexJulia
disclaimer: i dont own cowboy bebop, because if i did i wouldnt be writing poor fanfiction for it. and
i sadly dont get any monetary profit from this.
AN: yes, i know that some of this makes no sense. in case you were curious, i AM a native speaker
of english. i just get confused sometimes, heh
---------------------------------------------------------------------
And the fading light of the day comes in through the narrow slats on the window. Sometimes it makes
patterns of gold on the wall opposite, but not today. Today the coldness in people's hearts has snuck
outside and spread itself around. Gold is only present in the room in the form of her hair. Life is only
present in the room in the form of her. She's glowing with the beauty of life. Sometimes I sit and think
our love will be the death of us (or at least of me). Sometimes I sit and think our love will be the only
way we shall have truly lived.
...
She's a mirage, sometimes. Someone I think is there. A move to touch, and the realization that its not
the presence of light that sometimes makes the patterns of gold on the wall opposite. Its the presence
of that which impedes the light that makes the patterns of shadow on the wall opposite. If the slats of
the window were not present to shade, neither would the golden streaks of light. So it is with her.
Spike reflects on Julia and her (impact on his) life. Short, one-shot. SpikexJulia
disclaimer: i dont own cowboy bebop, because if i did i wouldnt be writing poor fanfiction for it. and
i sadly dont get any monetary profit from this.
AN: yes, i know that some of this makes no sense. in case you were curious, i AM a native speaker
of english. i just get confused sometimes, heh
---------------------------------------------------------------------
And the fading light of the day comes in through the narrow slats on the window. Sometimes it makes
patterns of gold on the wall opposite, but not today. Today the coldness in people's hearts has snuck
outside and spread itself around. Gold is only present in the room in the form of her hair. Life is only
present in the room in the form of her. She's glowing with the beauty of life. Sometimes I sit and think
our love will be the death of us (or at least of me). Sometimes I sit and think our love will be the only
way we shall have truly lived.
...
She's a mirage, sometimes. Someone I think is there. A move to touch, and the realization that its not
the presence of light that sometimes makes the patterns of gold on the wall opposite. Its the presence
of that which impedes the light that makes the patterns of shadow on the wall opposite. If the slats of
the window were not present to shade, neither would the golden streaks of light. So it is with her.