askye: (Default)
posted by [personal profile] askye at 10:31pm on 13/04/2011 under
I'm feeling nostalgic.

Here's the first thing I ever wrote. The intro part is almost as long as the story. This is actually fanfic. Even though you can't tell anything about it. It's fanfic of fanfic, of a X Men (comic verse, this was before the movie) series I read that was Iceman/Gambit series. This is when I first started reading fanfic. I also was on and found the Buffistas before we were actually Buffistas.

Anyway, there was this series and one of them died (I can't remember now which of Iceman or Gambit died) and I wrote this. And in the Fanfic thread of Salon I got someone to read over it and help me. Someone who later became part of the Buffistas. (cue Small World).

I don't really remember writing this, I remember a few key lines but not the actual process of writing. Unlike Variations of a Kiss which was something that hit me like a ton of bricks and I can still remember the whole process and intensity of how the story came to me.

But I digress.

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,-- so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Edna St. Vincent Millay

I stand at the door, not wanting to enter, not wanting to return. My breath
seems to come short, my heart skips a beat. It's been five years since I walked out the door determined never to look back. Five years since I fled. And now I'm called back to this place. Five years and
the memories I tried to escape still haunt me, still cling like a second skin. And here at this door all the half forgotten memories rush back.

I gasp.

The pain is still so real, so hard to bear. I left trying to find a place without memories without ghosts of him. I've never found a place. Even if I've never been there I am still haunted by what might have been, by what could have been. For two years I lived here without him. I tried to live my life but everywhere I turned he was there. I could see him, hear him, smell him. After two years of torture it was too much so I packed up and left. I left him. He is dead and gone and in his grave. How can he know the anniversaries I missed? But I know and the guilt of leaving him haunts me.

I remember his funeral. Standing there in the sunshine, trying to say good bye, trying not to break down and give in to the primal urges inside. The urge to throw myself on his grave and sob and beg God to bring him back. Instead I stood there and said I loved him and that I missed him and I cursed him for leaving me, for dying. Like he had a choice. I still wear my ring, even after seven years. I wear it as a talisman, afraid
that if I take it off he'll leave. Fade from my memory until I need a picture to clearly see his face. I'd rather live with the pain of the memories than the pain of forgetting his face. His smile, the way he's face would change when he looked at me, the sound of his voice as he sighed my name, said he loved me.

The memories seem so fresh. I can hear his voice calling my name. I can feel the joy of knowing he is near, of kissing him, of holding him. The joy of being held. I remember it all: the joy, the happiness, and the intense and shattering pain of losing him. My hand curls in the air and I can feel the smooth wood of his coffin. I can smell the sweet cloying scent of the funeral flowers. Seven years! And it doesn't matter how far I run or where I go or who I am with he always haunts me. Though the pain has changed from the knife sharp pain to a dull and constant ache it is still here. I do not want to be here, on this doorstep. I don't want this pain. I don't want this longing. I don't want these reminders. I want him still.

I suck in my breath and gather my thoughts to the present and ring the bell.

The door opens. The door opens and there stands Storm, her face brightening to a smile. "You came."

I can only nod.

"Come in".

"I think I'll go to the--to his--" I nervously stumble over my words. Why am I nervous?

"I understand, take your time. We'll be here". And she closes the door.

Nothing is left for me to do but go to his grave, to say hello and good bye.

When I get there I run my hand over the headstone, kneel and run my fingers along the inscription. The words seem cloudy, must be the tears in my eyes. I fight them back and realize I am at a loss for words. I want to apologize, beg forgiveness for being away for so long. But I can't. It seems foolish and useless.

So I simply say "I love you".

And place the magnolia blossom I brought on his grave.


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