Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into infinite years. Each day is like the other, each week the same. One month is just the same as the one before it, and the one before that. Do I have to tell you what the years are like? Nothing will ever change. Nothing has ever changed. Life goes on, but not for me.

But it does for you.

You, with your ever ready smile, your sparkling eyes, and your belief that I can smile. Will smile.

I won't, but you won't stop trying.

I hate you.

I love you.

I am alone. But you, you want to change that. I see you try, again and again, only to be turned away.

I am the darkness inside of you, of everyone. I am fear and hate and anger.

You are not.

You… are… something. Something I cannot understand. Something that I know nothing about. I reach for you. I want you.

I cannot touch you. I cannot have you. You dance, just beyond my reach, smiling and laughing. And I know nothing. Around you, I am nothing. I exist. Time passes. Life… passes.

You age. Into an adult. Broader shoulders (not too broad, thank heavens, I couldn't stand it if you changed too much), cheeks angling down to a sharp chin. Muscle, what you've wanted for so long, is now yours. But not thick, bulgy and disgusting. You look almost the same, but now there's an edge. In your eyes, your smile, and the way your hair is long enough to brush the sides of your neck.

I wonder what your hair feels like. I've never… I want to know. I need to know.

But I do not act. I never act.

But you do.

You smile at me, as I sit on the couch, reading. I don't see the words, or the page, or even remember that there is a book in my hands. I am focused on you.

Only you.

My heart pounds; I feel it try to escape my ribs, each thud heavy. You can hear it, I know.

"So," you ask, "What're you reading?"

I hesitate, and then check. "Poetry," I reply.

I talk to you more, now, I realize. Not like when we first met, when I was focused on myself. But now... we talk. Or, you talk to me. Sometimes I answer.

Most times I don't.

I should answer you more.

You keep talking, edging closer. Closer.

I feel your body heat against me. My heart is pounding. There is a fog in my mind. I try to think, but I can't.

I'm talking, but I don't hear what I'm saying.

You're talking, and I memorize what you say.

And then, time stops.

It is not from my powers. I have not caused this. But I look up, away from the book in my hands, into your eyes.

Every line of your face is committed to memory. Your scent is forever branded in my mind. This is not fair. Do I have the same effect on you? Does it matter? I see the look in your eyes, and stop thinking, wondering. Your eyes are speaking, and I hope my eyes are replying.

You lean forward just a bit more, and time resumes.

Life, resumes.

And I live. Hand clasped with yours. Fingers threading together. Side by side.

Reading a book of poetry.

End Notes

Kay- … Sparse for a reason. If you can figure out who the two are, you get a cyber hug. If you figure out what the person did, then you get a cyber GLOMP. Which is different then a hug, in that it is a hug disguised as an attack. (You all ready know who I think the guy and girl are... if you know me, that is. If not, guess.)

I don't own the characters. Nor do I hope to, as then I'd have more money then I'd know what to do with and donate it to everyone with a good cause. Like, cancer research, battered women's shelters, saving the rainforest and endangered animals, zoos… you get the idea.

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