Hello, hello.
Sorry, it's been a long time…AP testing was a pain in the ass. Jesus, I'm glad that's now FINALLY over…yet, teachers, of course, don't give a crap and continue to give multiple tests every day.
Trying to cram a year's worth of crap into your brain in a week….your brain cells die, *snickers*
Okay, moving on…
MEETING! PROGRESS! DOWN BELOW! (Finally )
By the way, if anyone would like to know…I always listen to an absolutely beautiful song "Shiroki Yuutsu" by the GazettE whenever I write. There are truly no words for the emotions conveyed, each listen is only a step more into understanding the overwhelming sentimentalities that this song strikes in my heart.
Curtains 5
He's gone.
His dark back melted away in the darkness, not a remnant left of his visit.
And with that,
The bitter, acrid feeling in my mouth abated with his receding footsteps.
"Brother"
Those words no longer hold any meaning.
Brother? What is that?
Once, I thought I held a gold key to such a relationship in my hands.
Yet it evaded my grasp, like a flitting butterfly.
Melting, scalding these hands, slowly oozing down to return to the earth as odious rust and copper.
Leaving only behind ugly burns and scars, never meant to be healed.
Kinship like that.
It never exists.
Two syllables that will never leave my lips.
"Brother"
Time passed.
Still the dark, tender night with the gentle, artificial breeze blowing from the air conditioners; the slight clink of the parted curtains sliding back to place.
Turning over, I realize –
All means of escape have been cut off.
Met again with an impenetrable, ivory wall.
Like a flower, I wither on the inside, forced to ingest lethal poison.
Kept alive
Only in appearance.
Living a pitiful, artificial life: easily transformed, so hard to break away.
A flower…
My mouth twists into a snicker.
Anything but that – my existence should be that of nettle and thorns.
Unwanted, ugly
Dreadful.
Thorns that constrain and squeeze the heart, biting teeth till the organ is leeched white of crimson liquid.
Kept alive
Only to welcome Death.
My thoughts turn to the man on the other side.
Did he hear everything? Did he hear those shameful words? Did he see….
perhaps….
Perhaps he's not even here.
Only a figment of this hallucinating mind.
Sleeping peacefully at home, lulled to sleep by passing cars and the sighs of the wind.
If so…
That would be best.
Private affairs
Can only remain private that way.
A small, silent voice penetrating the night.
"I cannot see what flowers are at my feet."
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet…"
A caress,
A whisper.
A melody escaping, as my mouth forms these delicate, sacred words.
No one will hear…
These expressions of pain, loneliness, and desperation.
My vision becomes blurry, brain lethargic…
Different shades blending into one; like a vortex of endless dark color.
Like lead, my eyelids droop slightly as I struggle to keep awake…
"Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;"
Far far away, a slight rustle jolts me from unconsciousness, the dream world.
An answer to my call.
Someone different stands before me.
A tranquil presence
A different peace.
Tides of relief wash over me; anguish melts away under his gentle gaze.
"Ode…to a Nightingale?"
The same, smooth voice of deep timbre, I've heard countless times.
Both in my mind….and the other side.
A response!
In this hazy expanse, it must be unreal, an illusion…
The light hits his face, highlighting his pronounced cheekbones, the angle of his nose.
Exactly as I imagined.
Surely it must be a dream.
His eyes….they're hidden in the shadow.
The corners of my lips turn up tiredly,
Yes…
Nightingale.
A poem of mortality and death
Sweet, fleeting evanescence.
Hallucinations…
It must be side effects from the heavy medication.
Yet for now; I'll play along. Content, let this delusion exist for a moment longer.
Insubstantial like mist –
Don't let it disperse now.
"Away…
Away…
For I will fly to thee…"
Just a little longer
May I rest.
The last thing I feel is the lingering sensation of a warm hand tangled in my hair
Before the abyss opens up and swallows me whole.
Their meeting! (It wasn't a very mushy gushy one…) But a meeting nevertheless! Hopefully things will progress…I honestly haven't planned the fine details out, OTL. But the poem: "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats. It's my favorite poem, an allegory, the word choice, diction is beautiful.
Jesus, using Keat's lines in this fic makes it look crappy ;_;.
Thoughts?
Review please...