By Nomad
April 2001

Spoilers: General Season 5
Disclaimer: Spike isn't mine. I'm blaming this oversight on the part of the universe for my antisocial tendencies.

How shall I live
Unless I die?
How shall I laugh
Unless I cry?
There is no truth
Without the lie
But love is true
And so am I

I'm still the poet. Who would have guessed? Deep inside, I'm still the poet.

I didn't know it. I didn't know until I needed it. Poetry doesn't live in happiness. It doesn't live in the warmth of companionship or the dark glory of the kill. It grows in the darkness, in the pain and the darkness and the shadows of the heart.

Once I didn't have the words. I felt this way, and the words weren't there. Now I feel it all the stronger, and the words are here. I have the words, and I can't speak them.

I can't compare you to a summer's day. You are the summer, and you shine so bright, but the light never falls on me. I'm here, in the shadows, where I'll always be. Here where I can't reach out for you.

It wasn't death that destroyed me. It was a single word, a look, a sigh. It was words that killed me, and a kiss that brought me back. Brought me back, and led me to where I am now.

I could tell you how that old fire has burned cold. I could tell you how my love has turned to ashes in my despair. I could tell you how you have taken her place, how everything I ever felt has passed away when you became the one for me. I could tell you. But I would lie.

My love never faded. My love never fell. It soared and it burned and it lived in my blood, and it still lives. It will never fade. I will always love her. And now that I love you, I will always love you.

Yes, I love you. I love you. I know what you think, what you feel, how you yearn to purge that from me, erase those words as if they were never said. But you can't. I've said them, and they're true. And they'll always be true.

I could tell you how it is to love, and what it is to feel this way. I could tell you how it burns and how it freezes. I could tell you how my heart clenches within me, how you echo within me. I could tell you how you glow.

I could tell you how it feels to see you breathe, to hear you sigh. I could tell you what it is when you move and when you speak. I could tell you what surges within me when I see you, and what breaks when you go away.

I could tell you how I fall into the darkness, and how even in your refusal you still catch me. How even though you turn from me I still see you.

I could tell you how I see you everywhere, in every face, in every picture. I could tell you how you live in the darkness, in the moonlight, in the rays of the sun that seek to burn me. I could tell you how every voice I hear can speak your name.

I could tell you what you are, how you have taken me over. How everything I feel and everything I am becomes a part of you, and everything you are becomes the sum of me. How I no longer exist because all I am belongs to you.

I could tell you all I've learned, and all I need to know. I could tell you all I have, and everything I want. I could tell you how you are my tears and my laughter, the only light in my world and the source of all the darkness.

I could tell you that I love you.

I could tell you all these things. Maybe you would listen. And maybe you would laugh, and walk away. Maybe I would pour everything I have into you, and it wouldn't be enough.

Maybe you would laugh, and walk away. And I would be empty, done, the poet that has poured all he has into one true work of love, and seen the pages scattered on the winds.

So I say nothing. I stay here inside my head, and I speak my words as they would sound to you.

I know love, and I know poetry. But you will never hear it.