Okay, this is better. Ignore the last post, because my computer's a half-assed loser and won't edit.
If you recognize it from my past entries, good for you. If not... hm, oh well.
Pairing: Conor/Julien. Before you say, oh god, not more Anyaslash, just read it.
Rating: Uhm, I'm pretty sure it's G/PG. There's nothing too serious in it.
Working Title: Fractured
Please note! This is a work-in-progress, therefore I will be posting snippets of it for a few days. As I am a little commenting everywhere h0r, I'd appreciate comments.
Read and enjoy! (Not to be confused with Share-and-Enjoy, for those of you who've read the Hitchhiker's Guide)
“In death’s sleep, what dreams may come?”
Desire… passion… lust…
So much to long for, so much to wish for. To hold a dream within one’s hands, a star’s dust, the mirth of a cloud’s sweet benign light. To grow to love these things, to want.
Remorse… resentment… hatred…
The promise of sweet enchanting beauties withheld, to place the carrot beneath the horse’s tongue only to withdraw it in the space of a gathering of desirous moments.
These things I have come to know well. This culmination of emotion’s bitter poison grates brashly on my soul, sharp against my bleeding hard. I have become vile and loathsome in the stead of an ice-numbed nothingness.
Is it a sin to despise one’s countenance so fiercely that one would lose one’s hated dripping sentiments and reminiscent nature in a moment’s bloody misjudgement? Does it bode ill if circumstance afford one to assume the airs and fripperies of another?
In-so-desiring those things that sat prettily within my spirit, I discovered a life with hand extended to logical practicalities and a cold demeanour adopted towards passionate reflections and a stigma associated with stirring words.
And so I abandoned my soul in a graveyard of forlorn, war-torn words. I wanted merely a shade of happiness, the light of sweet sun upon my cheek, to feel the palpitations of love deep within the chambers of my fool’s heart.
The mistakes we make when reason and truth are hidden from our perceptive eyes destroy us. I have become a destitute paper doll version of myself as I made blunder after blunder.
Once, you kissed me. You kissed me like you meant it. I was sitting there on the piano bench, pretending to be drunker than I truly was. This was just another silly charade, an evening’s entertainment, to see if you would fall for me.
I just wanted the brush of your lips against mine. They weren’t perfect, soft, pink lips, but they were what I so desired. I wanted to run my hands through your beautiful, thick hair, to comprehend your deep, passionate mind.
You were always my Simon, my idea of perfection. I was a girl for you, was a boy, became an idea, and slowly, gradually, faded into a lie. I was the wispy cloud on the horizon that belonged to no one, to nothing, had no opinions, and saw nothing. Appearing to be complete and vast, yet when touched, I have no substance. I am only you, that which I reflect. Soft, sweet, intangible, forgettable, nonexistent.
I will become whole again. I am a human being, a human being who is vastly in love with an idea. For that idea I would do anything, yet for myself I must do this one thing.
I need to become alive to love. And then I can truly live.
Back home. Mmmm... life is looking up right now.
I coloured my hair and will picspam later this week. When I'm *not* lazy, as in hardly ever.