by: pixie paramount (5/26/2007)
POTC: AWE, Davy Jones & implied Calypso/Davy Jones; and the wind continues to blow
He thinks in tens.
Thinks of the day without sea, without this--with her and, just for a day, free.
He thinks: ten years, ten years, ten years.
Like the day will never come.
It is The Day and the sun has already begun to slip.
She hasn't come.
His heart, locked away like her, in that shell, is not his own.
It is--was, always--hers.
He falls, the pang throbs (but not as fierce as the first and the second, like her touch and almost-kiss and all the what-ifs, had she come, had this all never have happened), and he thinks that the sea tastes bitter like tears.
I have no excuse. Also, I suck majorly at titling these things.
EDIT - 6/10/2007, 1:28 PM - Format, mainly.