Not be Contained
It was calling to him again. She could see it in the way that he unconsciously drifted towards windows, shaking himself physically when he realized what he was doing before walking away, only to return moments later. She had known that eventually it would call him back; she had actually been surprised that it hadn’t called him back sooner. She knew, though, that the fact that it had waited wasn’t for her benefit. No, as he said, it cared little for the worries of mortals, who lived only moments in its life. Which is why she wanted to scream and yell and ask why she couldn’t have him for but a moment more…? Surely one small moment wouldn’t hurt? But, no, it was looking for him, calling for him and, though she knew she was good at fooling herself, she could not deny the truth. The truth that eventually he would go back to it because, despite what romantics said and most people wanted to believe, there were stronger pulls than love.
She also knew that he wouldn’t leave without her permission and so she never gave it, secretly hoping and wishing that eventually that wild look would go out of his eyes. Instead, it only got worse. He could no longer sit down for more than a minute and he no longer even went outside. She never asked him but she didn’t need to ask him, she knew why he no longer stepped outside the walls, because its calling would become too strong and, no matter how much he loved her, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but answer it.
His anxiety began to show up in their lovemaking, in the way he was tenser than usual beneath her fingers. How he would throw himself more desperately into sex each night, as though he needed something physical to keep him here. Who knew, she thought, perhaps he did. After all, she still wasn’t sure exactly what he was or even what, or who, “it” was. He had never explained it to her and she had never asked but suddenly she found herself asking him questions, wanting to know more than just the warmth in her heart that she found around him.
He could answer nothing, staring at her with a fond smile before gently kissing her. He merely said that he didn’t remember anything before meeting her and that, somehow, he knew he wouldn’t know anything afterwards. There had simply been running and laughter and completeness. She remembered crying at that point, asking why he couldn’t be complete with her and he had given her a pained look, as close to sadness as he could get even as he patted her awkwardly on the back. Not use to dealing with pain of any kind, or at least not that he could remember, he tried his best to understand and deal with what she was feeling, but it was like asking her asking him about his past. There were simply no words to describe something that could only be felt.
That was why, only few days later, she opened the door to the small cottage she was staying in and stepped outside, for the first time in days, breathing deeply the fresh air. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see him standing in the doorway, excitement and the call so strong with him that he quivered like a dog waiting for its permission to get its treat. He’d come outside only after she’d asked him three times and each step was deliberate and shaking as he came to stand beside her. She could almost feel the edginess emanating off of him as he stood beside her and, very gently, she took his hand in hers.
She felt, more than saw, the flinch as he was forced to face both calls, the one of his blood, his whole being, and the one of his heart. He gazed at her pitifully, not knowing what to do, and he appeared so innocent despite his many years, that for a minute she fell in love with him again. Then, gently, she leaned forward and pressed a simple kiss on his lips before stepping back, carefully unlocking their entwined fingers. He stared at her with violet eyes that seemed too large for his face before smiling, the smile that she had fallen in love with, before leaning his head back, crimson-purple hair spilling backwards across smooth skin, letting out a sound that wasn’t human in the slightest.
And then he was gone, leaving her to stare where he had once been, tears standing out sharply in her eyes. She had let him go, he had left, and she knew that he would not be coming back. Some things could not be contained even by love. What he truly was she could only speculate; the closest that she thought she would ever come to the truth was believing that he had stepped out of someone’s dream and simply decided to inhabit the earth… except that he was older than that. She sighed and leaned against a pillar that surrounded the porch, creating a feeling of isolation. Some things had to be let go, she’d once heard, and if they came back they loved you. However, other things, as she’d learned, had to be let go with the knowledge that they wouldn’t come back, despite the love. She watched the sunset for a long time before going back inside to the now empty cottage. She supposed that it was time she went home, after all, her vacation-time was almost over and her life continued.
As she left the house the next day, she stood for a moment in the small clearing, in which the cottage had been built, and closed her eyes, leaning her head back. She heard the sound of a distant howl and then, passing quicker than the wind and far too quickly to see, she felt him run gentle fingers down her cheeks. Him, who she had loved but whom had been too big for such a novel feeling, kissed her gently before disappearing again, laughter and that strange howl following him. She smiled as she walked away, wind whipping her hair around, and swinging her suitcase as though she were once again a child.
Created: September 2005
Last Edited: 23 December 2008
Notes: I always find the idea that people have of love as this thing they can contain or control, and especially of the idea that love triumphs over all. Guess what? Sometimes, there are more important things in life than love. And I know that this idea would make a lot of people upset, but you know, grow up. Love cannot be contained and neither does it always triumph. And if I sound a little short on the subject, that's because I'm tired of all those girls who grow up thinking that love is this or that or whatever and then get upset when they find that the fairy tales aren't real.
She also knew that he wouldn’t leave without her permission and so she never gave it, secretly hoping and wishing that eventually that wild look would go out of his eyes. Instead, it only got worse. He could no longer sit down for more than a minute and he no longer even went outside. She never asked him but she didn’t need to ask him, she knew why he no longer stepped outside the walls, because its calling would become too strong and, no matter how much he loved her, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but answer it.
His anxiety began to show up in their lovemaking, in the way he was tenser than usual beneath her fingers. How he would throw himself more desperately into sex each night, as though he needed something physical to keep him here. Who knew, she thought, perhaps he did. After all, she still wasn’t sure exactly what he was or even what, or who, “it” was. He had never explained it to her and she had never asked but suddenly she found herself asking him questions, wanting to know more than just the warmth in her heart that she found around him.
He could answer nothing, staring at her with a fond smile before gently kissing her. He merely said that he didn’t remember anything before meeting her and that, somehow, he knew he wouldn’t know anything afterwards. There had simply been running and laughter and completeness. She remembered crying at that point, asking why he couldn’t be complete with her and he had given her a pained look, as close to sadness as he could get even as he patted her awkwardly on the back. Not use to dealing with pain of any kind, or at least not that he could remember, he tried his best to understand and deal with what she was feeling, but it was like asking her asking him about his past. There were simply no words to describe something that could only be felt.
That was why, only few days later, she opened the door to the small cottage she was staying in and stepped outside, for the first time in days, breathing deeply the fresh air. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see him standing in the doorway, excitement and the call so strong with him that he quivered like a dog waiting for its permission to get its treat. He’d come outside only after she’d asked him three times and each step was deliberate and shaking as he came to stand beside her. She could almost feel the edginess emanating off of him as he stood beside her and, very gently, she took his hand in hers.
She felt, more than saw, the flinch as he was forced to face both calls, the one of his blood, his whole being, and the one of his heart. He gazed at her pitifully, not knowing what to do, and he appeared so innocent despite his many years, that for a minute she fell in love with him again. Then, gently, she leaned forward and pressed a simple kiss on his lips before stepping back, carefully unlocking their entwined fingers. He stared at her with violet eyes that seemed too large for his face before smiling, the smile that she had fallen in love with, before leaning his head back, crimson-purple hair spilling backwards across smooth skin, letting out a sound that wasn’t human in the slightest.
And then he was gone, leaving her to stare where he had once been, tears standing out sharply in her eyes. She had let him go, he had left, and she knew that he would not be coming back. Some things could not be contained even by love. What he truly was she could only speculate; the closest that she thought she would ever come to the truth was believing that he had stepped out of someone’s dream and simply decided to inhabit the earth… except that he was older than that. She sighed and leaned against a pillar that surrounded the porch, creating a feeling of isolation. Some things had to be let go, she’d once heard, and if they came back they loved you. However, other things, as she’d learned, had to be let go with the knowledge that they wouldn’t come back, despite the love. She watched the sunset for a long time before going back inside to the now empty cottage. She supposed that it was time she went home, after all, her vacation-time was almost over and her life continued.
As she left the house the next day, she stood for a moment in the small clearing, in which the cottage had been built, and closed her eyes, leaning her head back. She heard the sound of a distant howl and then, passing quicker than the wind and far too quickly to see, she felt him run gentle fingers down her cheeks. Him, who she had loved but whom had been too big for such a novel feeling, kissed her gently before disappearing again, laughter and that strange howl following him. She smiled as she walked away, wind whipping her hair around, and swinging her suitcase as though she were once again a child.
Created: September 2005
Last Edited: 23 December 2008
Notes: I always find the idea that people have of love as this thing they can contain or control, and especially of the idea that love triumphs over all. Guess what? Sometimes, there are more important things in life than love. And I know that this idea would make a lot of people upset, but you know, grow up. Love cannot be contained and neither does it always triumph. And if I sound a little short on the subject, that's because I'm tired of all those girls who grow up thinking that love is this or that or whatever and then get upset when they find that the fairy tales aren't real.