It feels like nostalgia.

Soft and sad.






London bridge is falling down falling down falling down London bridge is falling down. My fair lady

Real nostalgia isn't complaining loudly about how the world was better when you were young.
Real nostalgia isn't like that. It's not so simple. It's a creeping sort of joyful melancholy and a soft side comment about the smallest thing you miss.

Life is a raging river. You can't just turn and swim against the current. Once you've passed something it's not coming back. Like the dip of a swallow's wing against frothy waters. Something you'll see once in a lifetime.

Build it up with sand and clay sand and clay sand and clay. build it up with sand and clay my fair lady

The memories are delicate. As if not at all real. As if not real at all...Aren't we all seeking like Pinoccio to be, "REAL " When we are real, then we will be able to see things more clearly, be more aware, love more deeply, have more joy. We all have some of the needed magic to be real inside of us.

That's what people like to think anyway. She isn't so sure herself.

Sand and clay will wash away wash away wash away. Sand and clay will wash away. My fair lady

She's sitting on a throne that one. All golds and maroons, like wine.
Her back lays against an arm, right leg tucked over the other, left leg bent against it.
She doesn't smile, she does not laugh, though she seems but a child. She shows no joy.

So finely dressed, a fine coat of dark lavender, all buttoned up with dark purple buttons so carefully etched to look like roses. Lighter lavender frills spill from where it lay unbuttoned, a proper cravat of fine cloth. Pants of that same deep lavender hue, belling out at the bottom, laced, as are the sleeves of that top, in finer light, almost white, purple.

Build it up with brick and stone brick and stone brick and stone. Build it up with brick and stone. My fair lady

A crown sits lopsided on a head of lavender hair. Which sweeps down the nape of her neck in the back, spills just over eyes of temple jade in the front.

Yes, she's quite the beautiful creature. Though there is nothing to say she is female really, one may just as easily called her a boy. She wouldn't have cared either way. Gender is relevant. Gender? that's a human trap.

And she is so much lower than any human.

Brick and stone will not stay. Will not stay will not stay. Brick and stone crumbles away. My fair lady

In her hands, a glass orb. A snowglobe. It is empty of all but the snow. And she brings it close, so very close. Gives it a soft shake, holds it in hands of dainty fingers, nails painted lavender-gray.
The snow stirs. Soon settles again.

There's a sleepy little town in it now. With streets of wet cobblestone, caked with snow, like a fine icing. There's a little child with lavender hair, sitting on a raised stone rail. The company of the crashing sea behind her.

"Would you like to be friends?" another asks.

'yes' mouths the little prince-princess.

"No" says the child in the globe.

The one on the throne scowls.

"Well I think we should, so we will"

The expression fades into one of joy filled sadness.

She gives the globe another shake.

Build it up with iron and steel iron and steel iron and steel, build it up with iron and steel my fair lady

The sleepy town is back. A different street.

"You gotta stop being so reckless. You get hurt!"

"piss off" the lavender haired child replies, muffled by the glass.

"I love you too~"

The older lavender being smiles. Watches the taller girl bandage up the little green eyed one. They're young, it's a sloppy job, done more for meaning than medical reasons.

"What would you do without me?"

She listens, tilts her head at the globe.
'this' she mouths.

Iron and steel will bend and bow. Bend and bow. Bend and bow. Iron and steel will bend and bow. My fair lady

She tosses it into the air, catches it again just as the snow is settling once more.

A boy has joined the duo. He's a small thing, but he has kind eyes, and a smile fit to light up anyone's day. He looks a little scuffed up.

"If they come back I'll kick their asses!" a growl from the lavender girl.

Older-her chuckles. So headstrong, so full of life, oh what happened?

"My name is _______ and we'll be excellent friends, ___ said that to me, so now I'm saying it to you ____!"

The names are so muffled. Like a deep sort of fog. That's fine, she knows these scenes by heart.
She should, she's lived them.

Build it up with silver and gold, silver and gold, silver and gold. Build it up with silver and gold my fair lady

Flickering scenes of play, green eyes flitting to catch every little detail. Small things she hardly took in back then. The falling of a flake of snow, the cry of a bird, the sheer beauty of iced leaves.
They're all laughing, wet with the snow they have been playing in and not one seems to mind.

A door creaks. And the scenes changes once more to the inside of a small house, lit with dim lighting and the crackling of a fire, and she can almost smell her grandmother cooking through the glass and water of the little toy.

"Dinner"

Dinner, yes, her friends loved coming over for dinner. They all helped cook. Everything was better that way.

She hesitated in shaking the ball this time.

Silver and gold can be stolen away, stolen away, stolen away, silver and gold will be stolen away, my fair lady

It's all tears this time, and the inside of an airport. Her first time in an airport, but certainly not the last.

"We'll see each other again someday, soon, I promise!"

She tensed. That was a promise she never kept. And tears bead at the edges of her eyes.
Broken promises, silly broken promises...

Promises she could never keep...

"love ya'!"

The globe stirs in her hands.

Everything is so fast now.

It's the food of France and the wheat fields in Lithuania. And too many homes and not enough letters and phone calls and the same two friends on the other side of the world.

Build it up with needles and pins, needles and pins, needles and pins, build it up with needles and pins, my fair lady

It's the loud busy sound of America and catching a new language on her tongue. Confusion and new customs.

It's the birth of a sibling and the meeting of a father. A bridge will fall, all too soon.

It's two AM phone calls and laughter, talking over a computer and more empty promises to visit soon.

It's the discovery of a site, it's prancing deer and an endless wood.
For a little while it's joy.

Needles and pins will rust and break rust and break rust and break. Needles and pins will rust and break. My fair lady

She's sitting up in the throne now. The globe is shaking in her hands, and she tries to hold it firm, hold it there, just a little while longer, and her cheeks burn as the glass begins to crack.
It's the first tragedy, real tragedy of her life. It's the loss of a best friend. No more cooking and now more snow.

"I broke a promise"

Yes, she did. She was not even there for that funeral. Could not be.

It shakes, as if there is a hurricane held within, it shakes.

Build it up with flesh and bone, flesh and bone flesh and bone, build it up with flesh and bone my dear lady

It's slowly getting over that. Long talks with the one she has left.
It's slowly getting over despair and hurt and looking for tomorrow.

The feeling of life sweeping in with a great claw to tear away what's left.
It's the raging ocean consuming him whole, and she wants to reach past the glass and save him but she knows she can't.

It's just a not-hers memory, it's just a movie, just a children's toy.

Flesh and bone will rot away rot away rot away, flesh and bone will soon decay my fair lady

It's glittering snowy christmas, beside a fire and a tree, unwrapping gifts that she has no taste for, smiles anyway because she's with people she has not seen in a long while. It's champagne and orange juice, spiced sausage, cheese potatoes and home made pastries.

It's joking with an uncle about everything and anything. Walking from the store because three bottles of champagne wasn't enough for everyone.

The family is small. But it's happy. Love and laughter. Christmas songs.
It's saying goodbye at the end of the night. Throwing her arms around him and saying 'see you later!'

There would be no later.
There was never, a later.

Build it up with love and trust, love and trust, love and trust, build it up with love and trust, my fair lady

Swirling blistering false snow.

It was being woken up the next morning. Being told. Wondering why, why why when he had seemed to be so healthy not a week before? It was crying and forcing herself into a bath so that she could look proper that evening at the house of her aunt's.

It was darkness and getting there. And strangers that she ignored with a sort of distant expression. It was cup after cup of bubbling golden alcohol.

Love and trust can be betrayed be betrayed be betrayed, love and trust will fade away, my fair lady

It was drink after drink and the room fuzzing and spinning around.
It was not stopping because she felt better this way, like she could laugh at everything, laugh at the entire world even as it pulled the heart from her breast.

That glass began to crack.

It was drinking far too many and getting sick. Which was fine. Now her body felt as bad as her mind.

Paint it all with blood and tears blood and tears blood and tears. Paint it all with blood and tears. My fair lady

It was waking up and still feeling sick as a dog. A raging headache and fuzzy mind.
It was that first hangover and stumbling downstairs to hope the night before was a dream. But the pictures and the tear stained faces and the photobooks did not lie.

It was being the first one awake, thumbing through images in the stained pages. "could he have ever been so small?" for he was always so very tall. And yes, she realized, he must have been, for he was so very tiny at birth, so she had heard.

Blood and tears will wash away. Wash away Wash away, blood and tears will wash away, my fair lady

The water is streaming from the cracks now, cascading down her hands. Down the glass, splattering against the marble floors.

The door opens across the room. A servant makes her way in. A friend.
"..."

She knows better than to disturb the lavender prince when he is like this. Stands mere feet before him but does not speak.

Build it up of fear and hate, fear and hate, fear and hate, build it up of fear and hate. My fair lady

It shatters, echoes in the room. A deafening crash.

Her hands are soaked, unscathed, glass raining down with bell like tinkling to the ground. And her hands raise to her face, a soft sob and she sinks from her throne, crown tumbling from her head of pale lavender hair with a crash to rival thunder and breaking mountains.

A hand shifts, the other still hiding half of the head it holds. The one now free tangling in the taller woman's clothing.

"Fix it" her voice is a whisper, desperate and needy, and the other hand joins the first, tangling against cloth, resting her forehead against the brunette's body.

"Fix it! Fix it now!" she wails. And it's petty, childish.

The past can never be fixed.
Once something has happened, it can never be changed.

It will stand forever here. Ever here. It will stand forever here

The other moves, plucks the crown from the damp floor to place it atop that head of gently messy hair once more, lifts the little female prince into her throne, tucks a strand of her hair behind an ear before wrapping her arms gently around her.

"Oh my, fair, lady..."
Pegasicorn's picture

*hugs*

*hugs*
ocean's picture

Quote:And she is so much

Quote:
And she is so much lower than any human.

Not true.

Your writing is lovely. Sad, heart-wrenching, but lovely.
Embyr's picture

This was....... very elegant.

This was....... very elegant. And sad. *gives a hug*

I have to thank you for

I have to thank you for writing this and posting it. I was in just the right mindset to stumble upon and read it. Thank you.
eyestrain's picture

The intensity of the emotion

The intensity of the emotion in this made it a little painful to read in one sitting. The feeling is so raw and sincere.
Using the rhyme as a device to weave the fantasy world and the reality of the memories together is a very effective device. It runs a very fitting parallel to the content of the prose.
The introduction and the description of nostalgia rang especially true for me.



I hope you'll keep talking with me Matthieu, even if I don't have much to say.

I don't strive to be the best, but instead I strive to do my best, and always give it my all every time.
-faunet

Sad...beautifully

Sad...beautifully written...but sad.
*hugs*

Pega: mmm♥ Ocean: Q

Pega:

mmm♥

Ocean:

Quote:
Oh?


<3

Embyr:

Thank you, that word means a lot to me it's one of my favorites

Tera:

I post things as they come, I'm glad you enjoyed it

Eyestrain;

Nostalgia is a very very sad feeling for me. None of the things in my past can ever be regained. Or replaced. Nostalgia and depression are easily confused in my head. Like trying to pluck a shard of plastic from broken glass bits.

Ammy;

Nothing less ♥
eyestrain's picture

Maybe they do mingle. It's

Maybe they do mingle. It's easy to get lost in memories and the pain of that time being over. But I think it's important to also treasure those memories and do them honor by taking pleasure from them more than pain... I guess I think that the me enjoying that time would not want to be hurting the me of now.

It hurts that time moves forward when we want it to stop, to enjoy a sweet moment. But time continues to move through bitter times, too, and if we can keep our hearts open, we will feel when the sweet things enter them and stay a while.

I don't strive to be the best, but instead I strive to do my best, and always give it my all every time.
-faunet

Yes, yes you're right. I have

Yes, yes you're right. I have many friends now, more than I have had at any other time.
You're one of those friends you know.

Life is so hectic, it's hard to sit down and enjoy one memory without drowning in the others sometimes.
There are still little things that make me cry too. Certain songs. A movie. Random things.
Hot sausage sticks weird as that sounds.

But that's okay too, crying isn't bad for anyone.

Have I ever told you how much you sooth me?
Well, hear it again~
Kasmir's picture

This has been said already,

This has been said already, but it was so beautiful; and sad. Well done, lots of emotion. Beautiful words. :,D *claps*
Serenai's picture

I can't stop coming back to

I can't stop coming back to this.
The memories, the ones I share, they're so... Bittersweet.
It hurts.

This is the most beautiful thing I have ever read.
It may always be.
Icon Art © Beloved
Hraeth's picture

This was beautiful and

This was beautiful and touching. I got lost in it.
I didn't really want it to end until I came to a happy one.