Title: An Ode to the Heart
Author’s Note: Let’s see, thanks ever so much to my creative writing club, Lolo, Lady Skywalker for betaing, Jedi Bria for trying (probably my fault; sorry!), and Peter for the title. * * * * * Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listenin’ to the sound of my tears I swiftly walked into my small domicile, locking the door behind me. I don’t want anyone to see the tears that leak out of my eyes as soon as the door closes every night. I collapsed on the floor in one remote corner of my room, put my head in my hands and sobbed. Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming round I am completely alone. There is no one who would understand my unhappiness. Even my best friends, helpful as they are, wouldn’t understand. So, every night, I sit in a corner and cry; how unfair the world is, how little there is that I can love, and how the magic and fantasy I desire is so far away, seemingly unreachable. Every night, I cry myself to sleep. Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by When I was a child, I could play pretend, blithely oblivious of the cruelty of reality. When it finally hit me, I knew I would never again be well. I would never be so carelessly oblivious, and happy. It has been many long years since I was happy. I used to be able to pretend that I was all right. I could almost fool myself. No more. For a long time now, I escaped to my room every night, and sob my shattered heart out until I fell into a sleep from sheer exhaustion. turn around Someone knocks on the door, but I don’t notice. I curl up into a ball and sob at the injustices of the world. At my own inadequacy to fit in. Deep down, I have always known that I would never fit in. I could, and did, pretend that I was no more then the same level as everyone else. This was the price I paid for conformity. Turn Around The knock is repeated, but I ignore it, hardly listening to the voice demanding entrance. They probably want something from me; once the tears start, I can’t stop them. I continued sobbing, not hearing the voice outside the door-asking if I am all right. They don’t care. No one cares. I learned this the hard way; don’t show them yourself, and they can’t hurt you. But this method doesn’t reverse the hurt they already caused, or that hurt that I am forced to do to myself, just to survive. Turn around, bright eyes The all too familiar feeling of isolation reaches a climax. The door bursts open with the lock collapsing onto the floor in a useless pile of scrap, but all I can hear is my own wracking sobs. I didn’t notice anyone had entered, until a pair of strong arms wrap around me. I buried my head in their chest, no longer caring who it is. The hands gently stroked my back, and whoever-he-is murmurs soothingly in my ear.
Once upon a time I was falling in love
I remembered all of the hurt, the anguish that I keep buried during the day, and let it surface from its distant ache into a sharp, demanding pain. My body shook with violent sobs; I had never felt so alone.
And I need you now tonight
His hand lifted my chin gently up to meet his eyes. “No. You are not alone. Not anymore.” His blue-green eyes fixed on me sternly, and I couldn’t look away. But then his stern gaze suddenly softened, and he stroked my hair with infinite tenderness. Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes, and I struggled to hold them in. He sees this, though, despite my efforts. His eyes overflow with sympathy, and he pulled me to him. “Let it out, love. Let it out. I’m here.” I was too sick to appreciate his voice right then; it was as smooth as butter, sensually rolling over the syllables. “I’m sorry.” I sobbed against his chest. I hate crying in front of people; sobbing on this perfect stranger’s chest is absolutely humiliating. He only tightened his arms around me. After a moment, I felt his lips press against my cheek, his short beard scraping against my skin. I sobbed against him, crying myself to sleep. * * * * * Carefully, so as not to wake her up, he lifted the now-quiet girl in his arms, and carried her over to the small bed. He removed her shoes, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She looked so peaceful now, fast asleep. He had never before encountered a being so utterly sad and broken. It had torn his heart in two, to see her cry like that. After a moment, he grabbed a pen and pad, scribbled down a brief note, and left it on her nightstand. * * * * * When I woke up in the morning, eyes puffy and swollen from crying, I stretched and sat up. I remembered the episode of last night, and wondered if it was just a dream. Probably. After all, who would bother comforting me? I sighed, and stood up, nearly tripping over my shoes, sitting neatly side-by-side next to my bed. That’s odd. I didn’t remember putting them there. I start to dismiss it, but suddenly notice the note on my nightstand:
It is hard for me to bear another being in as much pain as you were last night, and to think that this is a normal thing for you breaks my heart. If you ever feel the need, please call on me. I would be delighted to see you again.
In love,
The End
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