"Justify My Love"
[original story LOOSELY based on the song]
by Nymph Du Pave
 

Stolen moments.
That's what we have.
Stolen moments.
That's what we share.
 
 

Utter perfection.
 
 
 

We have kissed in Paris.

We have held hands in Rome.

I can't count the times we've been naked during the storms.
Fresh rain scenting the atmosphere, traversing from the heavens above to cleanse our bodies of the fear,
the sins,
the secrets.
The electricity filling our bodies, pure raw energy that only multiplies the passion,
our desperate clinging,
our fierce kisses.
 

Only adding passion to us.
 

We've made love in trains, planes and every other imaginable mode of transportation.

We've climaxed together on a cloud, crying out incoherently. Only the sirens in the seas below could decipher the language of our lust: we scream each others names, tears of sweet release running into our soft and silvered cotton-candy bed...
 

But it's always like that...
 

It's always delirious perfection...
 

Immaculate fusion...
 

He put this in me.
 

With one look.
Those somber, dark eyes,
so bleak and dispondent.
So hopeless.
 

So dejected.
 

I needed to save him from that, to give him my hopes, my love.
I wanted to see myself in those desperate eyes,
wanted to kiss the pain away from him,
steal his hurts and offer him my joys.

To lend him my life for as long as he needed.
 
 

I would hurt for him.
 
 

I would be no one for him.
 
 

I would die to let him know what he gives to me.
 
 

It's all in my life, my internal abyss.
 
 

Lacking him, it's a wasteland of a soul.
 
 

No existance without him.
 
 

I just want to make him feel loved, wanted, desired.
Whole.
The way he makes me feel.

Oh, if I could only give him this feeling,
the feeling that makes me tremble in awe each time I see him,
his glorious face,
his sanctified body.

I tremble within my entire being,
just to touch his skin.
 
 

I would hurt to let him know.
 
 

'Cause he's wanting
Needing
Waiting
But there's no need.
Our love is pure and justified.

The yearning and burning.
Everything is justified
when his lips,
so swollen,
thick with use
and urgency,
are on mine.
 
 

He tells me his dreams.
I am in them.
He tells me his fears.
He's so scared.
He tells me his stories,
Then is so suprised to find,
that I'm not afraid of who he is,
what he is.
 

Mine.
 

We can fly.
Do so often.
Not just in the clouds, not just partners with the stars.  Not just in making love.

When he has to get away from the retched pain inside of him,
when he craves to escape this world,
when he needs to hide from something I can't find,
something I can't replace with compassionate affection,
or eternal devotion.
 
 

His fears.
 
 

His hate.
 
 

His pain.
 
 

I never want them justified.
It hurts him so much that he sometimes can barely breathe, and he sometimes cannot speak.
But he looks at me, holding tight, and I know what to do.
 

 I take him in my arms and we fly.
 

So often.
 

If poor is the man whose pleasures depend on the permission of another, then I am far richer than his sires,
for we've never had such consent,
never wanted it,
never cared.
 
 

Never deemed it a necessary requirement for our union.
 

Our love is justified where it needs to be.
 

Within.
 

The darkness that threatened to take over...
He was born with a soul that promised to never give,
to never recieve,
but to only want,
eternally lamenting for love and acceptance...
 

He tells me that I have saved him.
He tells me that I have taken him from that, given his existance it's own voice, it's own integrity.
He tells me his heart sees stars every time I hold him,
that his mouth burns when we kiss,
and that his body aches forever,
just from wanting me...
 

He tells me that I overwhelm him with a flawless love.
A love that is unmatched by the chemistry of time and space.
A love that could be compared with the purest, most raw elements of our universe.

I wish those heart-rendering words were authentic to me,
mine to say to him while we lay together in bed,
my arms and legs locking him to me,
keeping him safe;
his arms about me,
hands burried in my hair,
eyes on mine,
lips asking for more.
 

He's keeping me whole,
keeping me bound to him.
 

Keeping me alive inside.
 

My words seem insignificant in comparison.
Instead he has to translate the unsaid,
the untold,
the songs my eyes tirelessly sing.

All I want is for him to know,
just how much I love him,
just how much I need him,
just how little I can feel without him.

I only want to show him his reflection in the Aurora Borealis,
in the sacred depths of a nova,
in the hidden soul of an angel,
or in the fleeting sound of nocturnal peace.

In the demension of my heart, the truth in my eyes, I see him so bright, so pure.

He thinks that I have salvaged him.
That I have delivered him.
 

That I am his savior.
 

But without his divinity, I would be lost.
They would be flowing,
the tears of pain,
tears of the unknown spawning from a void of which I could never fill without him
a void as bleak as my lover's eyes once were,
and as hollow as they had threatened to become...

He is my own dark seraph, my all too mortal companion.

He is the strength that fills me, the wholeness that completes me.

We will never let fate tempt us into an ill-starred eternity.
 
 

Not while we can still fly.
 
 

He tells me his fears,
that I am in them.

He tells me his dreams,
and that I am gone.

But I promise,
I will never leave him.
 
 
 

And he believes me.
 
 
 
 

His breath in Paris.
 
 
 
 
 

His hand in Rome.
 
 
 
 
 

His pale body in the rain
and beneath me cross country.
 
 
 
 
 

He tells me I am in them.
He tells me I am missing.
But I promise,
 
 
 
 
 

We will always fly.
 
 
 

FIN