.d.i.s.c.l.a.i.m.e.r.
fy does not belong to me, and no money was made in the creation of this fic.
.a.u.t.h.o.r.s...n.o.t.e. this is obscure, strange, and perhaps a little
confusing. ye have been warned. ^_~.
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"A Dream"
by Ryuen
~*~*~*~
[A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep]
His face is soft and soothed in sleep. His eyes are lightly closed, sheltered
by soft, flickering eyelids, clad in a wall of thick, fluttering black
eyelashes. Thin, silken strands of violet hair curl lightly about his face,
cling to the smooth cream of his cheeks, whisper about his ears...wash down
over his slim shoulders like rolling waves of violet. The blankets--soft, blue,
and cotton--lay in twisted tangles over his thin body, touching against his
chin, drooping down over the side of the bed, then swirling back up, covering
the upper halves of his pale, slender legs, but leaving the calves bare, the
small feet naked and white in the cool darkness. He shifts slightly in his
sleep, curls those slim legs up to his chest, lets out a long puff of air
through parted lips.
His breath, now, comes softly, gently...and a small, secret smile plays at his
lips--lips no longer painted in the soft rose of a court lady, no longer
stretched into the masking grins of friendship and carefully-hidden anguish.
No. It is a true smile that bends at his mouth, and that smile draws a new
warmth to his features, claims a new, ethereal beauty to that soft, pale skin.
[In dreams you will lose your heartache
Whatever you wish for you keep]
The wish lies silent and waiting on his tongue, tasting of rose petals and cool
summer rain...tasting of forgiveness and contentment and joy. Within the soft
flow of the dream, he rises, lifts an arm, stretches out towards the brilliant
flare of the light...the warming glow of the end of a road long travelled. A
cool stream of salt trickles down over the smooth cream of his cheeks, etches
thin lines of lingering humanity into his flesh...drips lightly from the edge
of his chin and falls off into the soft shadows of the darkness.
[Have faith in your dreams
and someday, your rainbow will come shining through]
Have...faith? The word slices through the darkness of his dreams, rises up like
a silver wave before his eyes. Faith. Does it even exist for him anymore, for
someone who's spent a lifetime writhing against the jarring touch of reality,
shoving away all sense of self and happiness with both hands...running away
from a life half-lived?
Faith.
There is faith in himself, faith in the reality of the body around him--faith
in the solidity of his fist, the firmness of the ground beneath him, the clear,
cold wash of the wind against his face...but, faith in a dream? Faith in the
flickers of desire, the shadowed forms of wants and needs only half-explored,
half-considered?
Faith in the impossible?
[No matter how your heart is grieving
If you just keep believing
The dream that you wish will come true]
There is faith, also, in the strength of those around him...faith in their love,
their committment...their courage and loyalty. Faith in her--in her buoyancy,
her smiles, her laughter, her faith in all--even the most undeserving. Faith in
him--grieving for the theft of youth, the theft of happiness, but still
smiling, still believing...still loving with all his heart. There is faith,
also, in him--gentle but strong, careful but forceful...full in love and full
in responsibility...full in a hopeless yearning for what can never be. There is
faith in the fiery temper, the helpless tears, the grating laughter, the
screaming, bursting challenges. There is faith in the cool wisdom, the quiet
grief, the soft green glow of healing...the shadowed smiles, the silent burden.
Faith in all. Faith in seven. Faith in the real, the pure, the perfect...but,
faith in dreams?
His eyes are wide and open and clear, gazing up into the cool azure of the sky,
staring up into the shifting clouds...feeling the warmth drain, the life
drain...the certainty, the strength...drain. He remembers the dreams as he stands,
remembers the struggle to believe, the struggle for faith, for trust...for
hope.
He remembers lying in a soft shadow of true smiles and warm
blankets...remembers the gentle hand against his cheek, the soft lips against
his own...the warm, solid body pressing against his own. Was there a face? An
identity? He doesn't know, doesn't remember...knows only that there was love
there, love in him and love in the future. It wasn't real...but, it should have
been. Gods, it should have been.
He stands here alone. Dying in the cold...dying in the light...fading into
death with no one to love him, no one to draw the dreams into reality...no one
to make the faith worth something more than a bad taste in his mouth.
He is alone.
And, yet...
Somehow, he is not alone. There's a warmth spreading around him now, a soft
blanket of rich, crimson velvet that folds itself around him, pulls him up into
the air...draws him into a world of dreams and darkness and light.
He stretches out an arm, reflexively...and feels a new solidity beneath his
fingers, a new, comforting weight against his flesh. A warm hand touches
against his own, draws him up...draws him into warmth, care...pulls him close.
The light is scarlet, crimson, blood-red...surrounding him, tugging him so close
that he can feel the beat of a godly heart against his own, can feel the warmth
of strong, solid arms around his shoulders, the soft presence of breath against
his neck. Words are spoken. He knows them well, feels them resonate within him,
repeats them in his own light alto almost without considering their
meaning...but, he knows that they're true. He knows it...just as he knows that
the dream is all he is now, that the dream is all he has, all he
needs...because, the dream is real.
Enfolded in the warmth of heavenly arms, he sleeps...and dreams.
~owari.
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