His Story
Her eyes were kindled from the lamps of Heaven
Her voice reached through me tender sweet
and low
An angel's voice, a music of it's own.
-Dante
Her beauty overwhelmed him. It was so innocent.
Pure, unadulterated devotion. This woman was beauty defined, from her raven
colored hair, so silky and soft as he ran his fingers through. That was
one of the things he remembered from the time when she had been his. And
her eyes…those onyx windows that lead to her deepest emotions. Or had those
been his own intense feelings simply being mirrored in her eyes? He couldn't
remember now, it was so long ago. Yet it wasn't was it? It only seemed
long when he remembered it, and all of the sleepless night since. But where
had he been? Oh yes…her eyes. Filled with tears at the thought of leaving
her lover's embrace, at the thought of perishing without being with him
once again. Those eyes had reached deep down into his soul, the very core
of his existence and pulled his heart out and taken it captive. Not that
he minded. Sometimes it was good to be captive…depending on the captor.
And she was the best of masters that he could ever wish to have.
She loves me all that she can
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man
And she will never be all mine.
(Witch Wife) -Edna St. Vincent Millay
Her body as well as her mind had kept him trapped, unable to even do so much as wish to escape. Her slender curves, the ones that called out to him but where so out of reach. They were as far away as could be imagined, with no hope of ever being within his grasp again as he was held by another captor, this one being an unrelenting wall of white that choked his very breath away when she threatened to relieve him of it. This cage, very different from hers, was none the yet a guilded one. One made in a choice of panic and one that would never be released. Never. Unless, of course, he was to trade one sin for another. One captor for the other, which would most certainly be pleasing to both him and his Athena bred, dark goddess of a mistress. But the hell he would have to suffer for being in her arms again would be to tremendous…even for the pleasure that it would bring.
But even if he were to approach her with this
life altering, yet completely reasonable if love is a valid reason for
anything, choice for them, he knew with a certainty that she would not
have him. Her heart, while belonging to him and him alone, was vowed to
another. One that was dependent on her in ways that he was not and more
importantly, one that could truly have her in the way that she needed to
be had. His own feelings, while more than the halfhearted gestures of the
one that possessed her, were not to be considered in this deal.
I loved my friend
(S)he went away from me
There's nothing more to say
The poem ends
Soft as it began
I loved my friend.
-Langston Hughs
It seems to me that the best relationships
are the ones rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at a person
and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch
has been flipped somewhere. And the person who was just a friend us suddenly
the only person that you can imagine yourself with.
[X-Files] -Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson)
Yet the fact that he was unnecessary did not change anything between them. Nonetheless, day after day she made her way into his life…into his heart. Hers was the face that greeted him when his mind awakened from a slumber haunted by her delicate body. Hers were the eyes that he dreamed of so far away. His dreams, while being nothing but that, were still his and perhaps in a way the only thing he had left of her.
She was his best friend once upon a time. They talk, and shared their secrets and spilled their souls. That time, was like everything else they had shared. A distant memory. Not so distant to him, yet distant still in it's passage of time, and passage of his aching soul.
Sir, I admit to your general rule
That every poet is a fool
Yet you yourself may serve to show it
That every fool is not a poet
-Matthew Prior
In the real world, as in dreams
Nothing is quite what it seems
(Book of Counted Sorrows) -Dean Koontz
Yes, he was a fool. A fool for ever thinking that the plaguing horror of a life without her would ever be worth living. A fool for thinking that his dream…his dreamer…would ever come true to be his. He was the dumbest of idiots for believing that love could conquer all in his enclosed world. Love never conquered all; he had learned that from bittersweet experience. Bitter because it had taught him a lesson he would rather not have learned. Sweet because it had gave him a chance to learn from the most captivating teacher. It was a lesson he was sure never to forget. In fact, given a chance, he would have gladly risked all to have another day spent in the classroom of her heart, memorizing the tables of her soul; subtracting her hurts and pains, adding her joys and happiness.
The more I see, the more I see that there is
to see.
-John Sebastion
A small look into a deep vault; that was all he had been allowed. Yet in that moment of full vulnerability he was granted more insight into her than anyone living had ever been blessed with. It was truly an eye opening experience. It was also part of what bonded them together, what kept them in each other's souls no matter what…where…or when in time that they were existing. There was so much more to her that he was afraid no one would ever be able to unlock. It was such a waste…She was so special. Her heart was a mystery that deserved a dedicated detective, ready and willing to spend time around the clock worshipping her, and weakening her like, he himself had done, until her defenses were depleted and she was left raw and ready to be taken. Then…once again, as he had done, this lucky man would take her in the gentle loving way that she needed, opening her soul to his prying, strong love and letting him have her all, completely, totally. Just like he wished he had done when he had been given the chance. But instead, he had glanced at her bared soul then turned her away and sent her to another. Another that was all she had and less than she deserved. But he would not be so pretentious as to make the claim that he was what she needed, because in all truth, she probably deserved even more than he could offer her.
I cannot lose a world for thee
But I would not lose thee for a world.
-Lord Byron
She was his life. He could not, and would not, continue living is she weren't gracing the earth with her presence. But that wasn't what he wanted to think of…in fact, all of his reminiscing had tired him greatly…therefore he was off to another night of restless dreaming of his angel…his Gabriel of the light…his own personal angelic guardian of the heart, warding away offending obsession in honor of guarding her ever present claim on his heart. She was his secret; he was hers. Their love, no matter how restricted, was thiers…and it was something sacred. Something that was to never be forgotten, never to be left behind, yet never to be told. Only to be pulled out on thought prompting night…quite like this one.
Nowhere can a secret keep
Always secret, dark and deep
Half so well as in the past
Buried deep to last, to last.
(Book of Counted Sorrows) –Dean Koontz