Hope
Another Riscobe drabble from Cobra's POV. I...tried...to make this non-angsty but Cobra just seems to be an Angst boy. >< I blame it on his childhood trauma and the fact that I seem to like the pretty emo-boys (not that Cobra is emo..or I have an emo character oO )and it's now bled into my muse. All of my muses actually. Hum. Anyway, I seem to be channelling Zax right now, with all the 'I'm happy, but I'm afraid that something is going to happen to take it all away.'
:Standard Riscobe disclaimer here:
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Hope
by Kitiarou
Hope is a bountiful thing, it wells deep within the soul and bubbles to the surface. My love is like that spring, always so cheerful, and so bright. I know he wasn’t always like that, and that he too has his own hidden scars. I watch him now, writing some story or poem or song, and I wonder just who could have been so cruel, as to inflict upon him such harm. He is an exceptional human being, and I wonder…I wonder just what he had done wrong to be here on this Earth, instead of some paradise like the Elysian Fields. But I am glad that he did what ever it was that he’d done, because it means that he is here, with me, instead of that great beyond that we mortals can simply guess at.
Deep in my soul, I know that I could never live without him. If I didn’t meet him, I doubt I’d be as happy as I am now, and I don’t believe in all that rubbish about Soul Mates. You are only truly happy if there is a loss and a gain to each relationship. But what was the price of ours? Our innocence? Our naivety? Our hopes and dreams and inner turmoil? The scars we silently bare and the strife we endured? The seemingly absence of light in a bright, colorful world? These are the things I ask myself, and each time I do I am no closer to figuring it out. But that’s alright. I live for the moment, and the past is but a collage of fragmented imagery I’ve been through.
No matter what I’ve done, been through, and seen nothing would have ever prepared me for ‘Ric. He is kind, and once he’s settled down around you, and looses that shyness...well…I still remember our first night together. He was surer then I was, even though I had far more experience then he. His fingers, just the thought of them, cause me to remember the thrill of the passion, the confessions, and fuzzy saited pleasure that still caused me to snigger.
The best part about him has to be his kisses, such a variety he offers and all usually at the same times. Sloppy kisses after dinner, quick peck-on-the-lips after lunch, heated kisses at night, soft good-morning-kisses tinged with foamy mint toothpaste. All those kisses are fine, but what I crave the most from him are the ones tainted by the chilled lemon sherbet at the ice cream parlor. That one I enjoy the most, not because it leads to things between the sheets, but because it brings back memories. Memories of triumph and fact that letting hope blossom is always a good thing. I was once told by someone, my real Mother, or my adopted one I’m not sure, but ‘Hold on to hope and never let it die’ was the best piece of advice ever given. Because it’s worth the price I’ve paid, and far more, for the treasure I have found.
:Standard Riscobe disclaimer here:
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Hope
by Kitiarou
Hope is a bountiful thing, it wells deep within the soul and bubbles to the surface. My love is like that spring, always so cheerful, and so bright. I know he wasn’t always like that, and that he too has his own hidden scars. I watch him now, writing some story or poem or song, and I wonder just who could have been so cruel, as to inflict upon him such harm. He is an exceptional human being, and I wonder…I wonder just what he had done wrong to be here on this Earth, instead of some paradise like the Elysian Fields. But I am glad that he did what ever it was that he’d done, because it means that he is here, with me, instead of that great beyond that we mortals can simply guess at.
Deep in my soul, I know that I could never live without him. If I didn’t meet him, I doubt I’d be as happy as I am now, and I don’t believe in all that rubbish about Soul Mates. You are only truly happy if there is a loss and a gain to each relationship. But what was the price of ours? Our innocence? Our naivety? Our hopes and dreams and inner turmoil? The scars we silently bare and the strife we endured? The seemingly absence of light in a bright, colorful world? These are the things I ask myself, and each time I do I am no closer to figuring it out. But that’s alright. I live for the moment, and the past is but a collage of fragmented imagery I’ve been through.
No matter what I’ve done, been through, and seen nothing would have ever prepared me for ‘Ric. He is kind, and once he’s settled down around you, and looses that shyness...well…I still remember our first night together. He was surer then I was, even though I had far more experience then he. His fingers, just the thought of them, cause me to remember the thrill of the passion, the confessions, and fuzzy saited pleasure that still caused me to snigger.
The best part about him has to be his kisses, such a variety he offers and all usually at the same times. Sloppy kisses after dinner, quick peck-on-the-lips after lunch, heated kisses at night, soft good-morning-kisses tinged with foamy mint toothpaste. All those kisses are fine, but what I crave the most from him are the ones tainted by the chilled lemon sherbet at the ice cream parlor. That one I enjoy the most, not because it leads to things between the sheets, but because it brings back memories. Memories of triumph and fact that letting hope blossom is always a good thing. I was once told by someone, my real Mother, or my adopted one I’m not sure, but ‘Hold on to hope and never let it die’ was the best piece of advice ever given. Because it’s worth the price I’ve paid, and far more, for the treasure I have found.