Re: [part 3] Will follow for love [3/3]
anonymous
January 7 2010, 20:57:28 UTC
His brother snorts, and turns his back on him.
Recovery
Spring makes Berlin shine beautifully. Gilbird chirps happily on his shoulder, and Gilbert grins to himself. He doesn’t look like the broken body trapped in the soviet basement, and the gold and red he once thought so beautiful joined the black he used to like in the old days. Now he is Germany, too. And he remembers everything.
Took him days to adapt to his new home. The apartment had too much light, and the city too much noise. And his bed is always empty now. West took good care of him, gave him some money, built him new buildings, renamed some of his streets, but…
From across the street he watched Russia come out of the hotel. He had followed him and waited and waited and waited, because he had to see him. Tall and proud and crumbled. A former superpower taking a walk in a Berliner street. Gilbert felt his heart beat faster, his cheeks warming, but told himself to stay where he was.
He remembrance of gentle fingertips and soft touches were beginning to fade, and the nights didn’t feel so lonely anymore. The light didn’t hurt, water didn’t burn. He didn’t had to report to anyone anymore; didn’t had to follow orders and denounce strikes. He wouldn’t be controlled by communist hands ever again; wouldn’t smile to him; wouldn’t miss his kisses, his voice, his language. He wouldn’t love him. Not anymore.
Russia stopped in his way to the car and looked up, straight at him. He did always knew when he was being watched. He smiled. And Gilbert felt something inside him brake, because it was a sad smile, and he felt guilty. Guilty for something both knew would happen one day, and for which he was not sorry.
He wanted to cross that street and pull him into his arms, kiss him gently and softly like they used to, whisper words into his ear only the two of them would hear, give him whatever he needed, make him happy. But forced himself not to. One day the strings would fade and he wouldn’t feel these kinds of urges whenever he saw the man. One day he would be free. Russia entered the car and drove away.
Gilbird chirped again, and he patted it’s tiny head, taking a deep breath. One day, yeah.
Recovery
Spring makes Berlin shine beautifully. Gilbird chirps happily on his shoulder, and Gilbert grins to himself. He doesn’t look like the broken body trapped in the soviet basement, and the gold and red he once thought so beautiful joined the black he used to like in the old days. Now he is Germany, too. And he remembers everything.
Took him days to adapt to his new home. The apartment had too much light, and the city too much noise. And his bed is always empty now. West took good care of him, gave him some money, built him new buildings, renamed some of his streets, but…
From across the street he watched Russia come out of the hotel. He had followed him and waited and waited and waited, because he had to see him. Tall and proud and crumbled. A former superpower taking a walk in a Berliner street. Gilbert felt his heart beat faster, his cheeks warming, but told himself to stay where he was.
He remembrance of gentle fingertips and soft touches were beginning to fade, and the nights didn’t feel so lonely anymore. The light didn’t hurt, water didn’t burn. He didn’t had to report to anyone anymore; didn’t had to follow orders and denounce strikes. He wouldn’t be controlled by communist hands ever again; wouldn’t smile to him; wouldn’t miss his kisses, his voice, his language. He wouldn’t love him. Not anymore.
Russia stopped in his way to the car and looked up, straight at him. He did always knew when he was being watched. He smiled. And Gilbert felt something inside him brake, because it was a sad smile, and he felt guilty. Guilty for something both knew would happen one day, and for which he was not sorry.
He wanted to cross that street and pull him into his arms, kiss him gently and softly like they used to, whisper words into his ear only the two of them would hear, give him whatever he needed, make him happy. But forced himself not to. One day the strings would fade and he wouldn’t feel these kinds of urges whenever he saw the man. One day he would be free. Russia entered the car and drove away.
Gilbird chirped again, and he patted it’s tiny head, taking a deep breath. One day, yeah.
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