Notes: Don't know where this came from, lyrics are from the song "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley. Thanks for Becka (who looked over this & gave insight) and Elise(who rocks for just being herself). ((hug)) This is completed by the way ... any feedback will be appreciated.
Disclaimer: Lyrics not mine. Show's not mine. Rory/Jess aren't mine. I'm broke, so just ... no.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
but love is not a victory march
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
It's on a cold, November day that he sees her; she with the hair in her face, a scarf circling her neck, and a book in tow. It surprises him at first to see her there; at first he wouldn't let himself believe it.
But she is here. She with her hair blowing in the wind, and the sun casting gold specks on the top of her head; she with her pursed lips and soft eyes; she is here.
He notes how different she looks, the curious contrast between the present and a lifetime ago. Her hair is cropped to a shoulder length now, and she adorns bangs that droop down close to her eyebrows. She is older now, and any sign of innocence has been lost beneath the sophisticated way that she carries herself. She's not the same girl that he fell in love with.
She's different; but it's the same feeling, the same yearning, the same desperate longing.
He's never quite gotten over her.
He thinks about going over, but something manages to stop him.
He doesn't know what.
It's sad, really, how this one girl has managed to ruin him for life. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to fall in love. It just wasn't supposed to happen.
The wind picks up and sends the book that was in her hands flying. Seemingly frustrated, she curses the wind and makes an awkward dash for the book. It gives him just enough time to see the cover.
A cover he could recognize instantly.
It's ironic really, how hypocritical he is. He who swore at the age of nine never to fall in love with anyone, and yet eight years later, breaks the promise to himself. It's funny how love has made a fool out of him, love which asks for promises and expects you to keep them. He was never good at keeping promises.
He'd sworn to never fall in love.
Well he'd made those promises; he'd made ridiculous, impossible, desperate promises that only fools make. Promises that didn't look anywhere but the future. And it's funny that he'd make such promises too, keeping in mind how un-futuristic he was.
He'd made promises that led nowhere, did nothing, and promised everything.
Promises he'd intended on keeping, once.
Because he was love's fool.
He knows that he can't keep revisiting these useless feelings anymore. It does nothing but tear at his sanity and erases any chance for recovery. It's like picking at a scar and noticing that blood always leaks when you do. There's no chance for recovery.
So maybe this was the best thing for them both.
He needs to move on.
He needs for the scars to heal.
He needs it to be over.
It has to be.
So, sighing heavily, he wills himself to walk away—
Away, away, away.
—into the other direction, and never sees her again.