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Triskell
Author of 90 Stories |
AN: I've had this story on my mind for a while, though I never had the time to write it down until now. I found the poem only yesterday and thought it expressed the thoughts which inspired the piece perfectly.
The idea to incorporate it into the story this way came from Yuffie's writing. Dedicated to S. D.
By John Clare
I loved thee, though I told thee not,
Right earlily and long,
Thou wert my joy in every spot,
My theme in every song.
And when I saw a stranger face
Where beauty held the claim,
I gave it like a secret grace
The being of thy name.
And all the charms of face and voice
Which I in others see
Are but the recollected choice
Of what I felt for thee.
I love you.
Always have in fact. Almost from the first moment our eyes met - only that I never knew just how deeply you had touched me. I have never analysed my feelings, or openly confronted myself with my longings.
Tonight is the last chance to do so. My time is running out, years lie behind me, years of consequence without meaning. My life. It was good, fulfilled in a way I could not have hoped for and yet empty.
I could not say if you remember that night, almost a life time ago. I do. Each and every moment. We had been friends for a long time, despite my rashness and my brittle veneer of cold. I never could find the strength to push those who cared for me away. Like you. And so we had talked most of the evening, a few quiet moments we shared now and then.
Our own little corner of the junkyard, hidden, homely, only ours. We never came back there after this night. This is strange. Or maybe not. Being only friends, this place held too many memories of other things.
Of the rolling thunder, the flashes of lightning and the pelting rain that drove us into hiding, into the bowels of a burnt out oven. A very cramped and uncomfortable spot - though not for me. We were cold and wet, dripping. But I was warm as I knew that being beside you was all that mattered. The scar on your upper arm was still visible then. You had it from when you flung yourself at the pollicle that had knocked me down in a back alley. I hit my head, unable to fight back, helpless. If not for you I might not have lived to tell the tale.
I am quite sure he never came close to a black cat again - the blue lightning from your paws was enough to make him lose the little wit he had. A magician you were, even then. Powerful, deadly if you chose. I think I was the only one who saw this, back then.
The others called you a kitten. I saw the truth in your eyes, the depth of a knowledge that went beyond all a young one should by rights have known.
I cannot remember much after the lightning, only waking up at Jenny's place with a headache, you sitting at my side, your arm in a bandage, smiling at me. You would not have me speak about it, would not allow me to thank you.
"That's what friends are for."
Maybe, if you will believe it, but it takes a special friend to risk his life. I was forcibly reminded of it that day as we sat huddled in the oven. And I felt, not for the first time, but more acutely than ever before, that as long as you were there I was content.
Even though I knew from the moment I realized I loved you that we could never be. I needed only to look at you - my feelings were not reflected in your eyes, and your eyes never lied. You never lied. Not even in that night when you gave me what I had never hoped for, a memory to sustain me through years as your friend, as far from you as I could ever be.
The sky was stormy and there was no light to look upon us, no witness when I traced the scar on your arm. You turned to me and smiled, motionless, waiting. I was drawn to you - I could have pulled back, let the touch linger in my memory. Give in to propriety and friendship. I did not.
You need not have hugged me then, you could have pushed me away when I kissed your neck, your cheek. You did not.
You felt my need to hold you and encouraged me. For those moments in that single night you were mine - my heart, my love, my life. When I close my eyes I feel your fur beneath my paws, your body, the heaving of your chest, your breath against my ear and sometimes, when the wind whispers I hear you say my name softly, like a caress.
Your scent has mixed with the sweetness of fresh rain on an autumn night and the moon holds your face, your dark eyes that spoke of a friend's love that would give all to soothe my pain. You knew I loved you.
And you held me against you, stroking my back until I fell asleep, the beating of your heart in my ears. Your kittenhood innocence cradled in my own.
The sun shone when I woke, you still holding me and smiling. I would have hoped, had not your look told me otherwise. I could not help but ask why you were still with me.
"I can't walk out on you."
You choose your words with care, and you rarely are as serious as you were that morning when you offered me your friendship, for our lifetimes. I let you get up then, saw the slight blush that tinged your cheeks.
You turned back once more and kissed me - my dearest memory of you, my friend. It was the gentle goodbye of a lover who left me to return no more.
There was less awkwardness between us than I would have supposed. Though you were afraid of hurting me when you saw I had noticed you falling in love. Yes, it hurt, but you could not have found a better mate, no truer and kinder soul.
Electra knew there was a special bond between us, she might even have realized that what I felt for you was more and that we shared something she could not be part of. But she was so sure in the knowledge of your loving her she never asked for explanations. She let us be, offered me her trust and good opinion, a chance to be part of your life. She could have been jealous of your spending time with me. It would have been her right. Yet she chose the other way.
No wonder you love her so entirely. What I feel for you, you feel for her. And though I was sad to see the two of you together, I could not dislike her. You call her your angel and I heartily agree with you in that respect. She is very special indeed.
It is good to know she'll be with you, that I am not leaving you alone. It is better than if it were the other way round. I could never console you over her death.
Dawn is breaking, my friend, and my time is up. I would have liked to leave you a letter, but you know what I feel for you, there is no need to pen words to paper as a blank remainder of a feeling that hung unspoken between us.
Your love for your friend has warmed and comforted me. When the sun has risen you will find an empty shell but my heart will be at rest where it has always been - with you.
End.
1) From "Great Love Poems", ed. by Shane Weller, Dover Thrift Editions, 1992, p 69
