Indigo Girls Songfics Repost

Title: Face to Face
Author: melacita
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: slightly angsty
Summary: "I felt ridiculously young, sitting on that hill in the fading light, but I didn’t leave. I felt like a foolish little brother. When I told you this, you laughed and said you already had foolish little brothers."
Disclaimer: Don't know them, this never happened, I'm just a slightly melancholy fanfic writer.
Feedback: of any sort is always appreciated
Authors notes: first person and no real dialogue. Uncharted waters for me. Scary.




You were always sneaking away in the early days. Away from the forged steel that leaned against instruments of a later era’s deception. Away from made-up games, and made-up languages, from a made-up collection of wanderers who had forced themselves into three dimensions through force of will alone.

I was always with them, so in a sense you were always sneaking away from me, and I wondered about it. Curiosity overwhelmed me early one evening and I followed you. I tripped through vines, snapped twigs, and kicked up leaves--testimonies to my own pretensions here in on this little island.

I found you on a hill, overlooking a meadow dotted with ancient gray stones. It looked like a cemetery. A strange place for someone so alive, I thought, and I told you so.

You turned to me, startled, your cigarette slipping from your fingers. A muttered curse carried on the breeze. The cigarette smoldered on the ground, and I sank to the ground and picked it up. I brought it to my own lips.

Your lips parted in unconscious pantomime as I inhaled.

I gestured to the roll of paper by your side, anchored to the cool ground with a triangle of muddy rock. A slippery, thin volume, groaning under the weight of its slippery, thin contents, dripping names; half-truths spinning the world on its string.

Inside, innuendo accompanied your own image. I didn’t think cheap words on cheap paper would bother you. You told me that they don’t, not really. But I wondered. Because I thought it might bother me.

You’ll know soon enough, you said, as if my thoughts were your own. Your gaze was far away, focusing on some faraway outline of Greek mythology.

I hugged my knees. I felt ridiculously young, sitting on that hill in the fading light, but I didn’t leave. I felt like a foolish little brother. When I told you this, you laughed and said you already had foolish little brothers. You taught them to drive before they had permits, and snuck them into bars in the middle of the night as older brothers should.

I frowned and dropped my chin to my hands. Callused fingers brushed my cheek, and I looked up to see your face inches from mine.

Do you think of me as an older brother? You asked.

No, I whispered.

That’s good, you replied with a slight smile, and traced your fingers along my lower lip.


The memory of that night burns my mind, but I never put it into words, or slid it into a photograph album. I kept your messages, disjointed and poignant, but they never captured the way things were between us. You have more skill with things like that and created it whole and bright in word and tint and oil for the world to see, if only they knew what to look for. But most didn’t, and that was for the best.

I keep other images of us together in my head. But this, an image of smoke and green and careful exploration-- this I retrieve in times when I miss you most. Resting, flat on my back, in a boxing gym; over dinner and wine with castmates of a alternate universe; whilst playing with puppies in the Mediterranean sun; watching fireworks over Disneyland in July. Each time I looked up and sent my love to you like messages in bottles that never reach the shore.

I save the words for times like this, when we are face to face and I can tell you, if I’m careful. Cameras flash and journalists scribble, but no photograph, note, or recorded message can describe these moments when foreheads touch, hands clasp, and bodies meet in embraces that grow more desperate as they become less familiar.

The boy who huddled on top of that dead man’s hill beats his fists against my skull. I know what he wants, because I want it, too. But there are others here who are happier with empty facades and buried memories, and it’s only when I am with you that I have the strength to fight them all at once. You know this, and rather than steal me away and lock me in your tower, you let me go again without any promises. Your generosity shames me. I tell myself that one day, I’ll fight back.



We were down at Dead Man's Hill, smoking vines like cigarettes.
Looking through the trashy mags, trying to feel what's coming next
You told me of crashing cars, older brothers, and late night bars
I told you what I feel most, and you kept it like a ghost… forever.


Lying on the bright blue jumping mat, dinner bell is ringing
Barking dogs and model planes, and the sound of passing trains
We watch for bonfires in the sky, on the beach in July
Spin the bottle, steal the kiss, postcards to the one I miss… forever


I remember cats on fire, gasoline, a burning spiral
Standing underneath the night, fighting back with all my might
Empty cans and charred remains, find them in the heat of day
On the top of Dead Man's Hill, this is what I know of shame… forever


Don’t you write it down. Remember this in your head
Don’t take a picture. Remember this in your heart
Don’t leave a message. Talk to me face to face.


Title: Mystery
Author: mellacita
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: "On nights like these, when it is just the two of us, I think I could go crazy."
Disclaimer: Don't know them, this never happened.
Feedback: of any sort is always appreciated

Previous "Chapters" (this can only loosely be called a series)
Face to Face | Power of Two

I promise the next one will have some ack-shee-own-nay...



You were a mystery.

You’d come and go as you were inclined, and those inclinations were in constant motion, swirling about you, so close to the surface I could almost see their ebb and flow.

You’d come by my house four times in one day, and then a week would pass before I would see you again. The ranger, the warrior, and the king were far more predictable. I always knew when I would see them, at least. Not even you were exempt from closely-monitored schedules.

Before you joined us, my thoughts were simple. My head was full of knives, and arrows, and stillness by day; adventure and well-intentioned mischief by night. Then you wandered haphazardly into our midst one morning, and my thoughts were never simple again.

It’s warm out tonight, and there’s still enough light out that I can see the imperfections in your perfect face from my perch on the lawn chair beside yours. The bottle has grown tepid in my hands, but I continue to sip from it. I don’t want to leave just yet.

A neighbor’s dog barks in the background, and you sigh and lean your head back into the worn weave of your chair. I bring the bottle back to my lips and slide my gaze over it, to you. There’s a funny little smile on your face, the scarred side of your upper lip quirking a little bit more than the rest of your mouth. Your mouth…

I often found myself staring at your mouth in the mirror. Our makeup artists were busy transforming us from young kid and mysterious man to ageless elf and…mysterious man, and I stared at the reflection you made in the mirror in front of us for as long as I could get away with it. When you started to cover the mirror with scraps of paper and clippings and photographs, I was disappointed. Until photos of me showed up in the chaos.

My own eyes had drifted shut during this brief journey through memory, but I don’t realize until I hear the click and flash of your camera.

Couldn’t help it, you say. You were lying so still and covered in sunset. That mysterious little smile is back, but your eyes betray far more intensity than I know how to bear. Far more possibilities.

On nights like these, when it is just the two of us, I think I could go crazy. Crazy from the need to see you, touch you, taste you, understand you. Do you know? I know you are very fond of the others and they of you, but why is it always me in your backyard, me you call at all hours of the night when little things strike you as funny? And if you know, why won’t you do something?

Sometimes I think I might love you. That I have no choice but to love you, no matter how impossible it might be. That I loved you from the moment you appeared on set in an old sweatshirt, worn jeans, and barefoot, mumbling introductions punctuated with long spells of silence.

And then other times I think that’s ridiculous. That love is not the same as lust or fascination or the ache inside when the other is hurting or the pride that swells when doubts are overcome, or…

Then I think, yes, I might actually love you.

They said I was the adrenaline junkie, back then, but my adrenaline habit was fed with measured doses and monitored by cable, cord, and professional risk takers. You preferred the harder stuff: danger. It would find you, in rivers and rocks and under the new moon, and if it didn’t, you sought it out. I wondered if you did it for your own experience or you just liked being the vehicle that lets hundreds of people experience the thrill themselves?

You care about people, often at the expense of yourself. Listening to you rail against hatred, greed, injustice, I can see you sacrificing yourself for a dozen noble causes, or the fate of someone you have never even met because something about them touches you. I am not sure what I would die for, though I think you might make the list.

And then I think that yes, I might actually love you. But I still don’t tell you. I didn’t tell you then, and I don’t tell you now, even as the green grass and barking dogs and chirping crickets beg me to. Instead, I leave. I have an early call in the morning, anyway.

The early call leads to a late evening, to an invitation to dinner from a beautiful governor’s daughter. She is warm and funny and fiery at once. And not interested in me, fortunately, although she pretends very well for the camera. She breaks the label on a dark green bottle and pours sparkling water into our glasses. She compliments my performance today, and asks me what is bothering me. And I tell her everything I didn’t tell you. She listens without comment as I answer my own questions, but understanding fills her face.

I think I might actually love you, I tell her, and asks her if she thinks you love me, too.

She’s not sure, she says, but it’s definitely a possibility.


Each time you’d pull down the driveway
I wasn’t sure when I would see you again
Cause yours was a twisted blind sided highway
No matter which road you took then
Oh you set up your place in my thoughts
Moved in and made my thinking crowded
Now we’re out in the back with the barking dogs
My heart the red sun’ your heart the moon clouded

I could go crazy on a night like tonight
When summer’s beginning to give up her fight
And every thought’s a possibility
And the voices are heard but nothing is seen
Why do you spend this time with me?
Maybe an equal mystery

So what is love then, is it dictated or chosen?
Does it sing like the hymns of a thousand years
Or is it just pop emotion?
And if it ever was there and it left
Does it mean it was never true?
And to exist it must elude
Is that why I think these things of you?

I could go crazy on a night like tonight
When summer’s beginning to give up her fight
And every thought’s a possibility
And the voices are heard but nothing is seen
Why do you spend this time with me ?
Maybe an equal mystery

But you like the taste of danger
It shines like sugar on your lips
And you like to stand in the line of fire
Just to show you can shoot straight from your hip
There must be a thousand things you would die for
I can hardly think of two
But not everything is better spoken aloud
Not when I’m talking to you

Oh the pirate gets the ship and the girl tonight
Breaks a bottle to christen her
Basking in the exploits of her thief
She’s a very good listener

Maybe that’s all that we need is to meet in the middle of impossibility
We’re standing at opposite poles equal partners in a mystery



Someone shoot the bunnies, please. I have work to do.

But Face to Face got me depressed, so I wrote a sequel that takes place at an undetermined time in the future. Based on another Indigo Girls song, also from Swamp Ophelia.

Title: Power of Two
Author: mellacita
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none, unless you don't like happy endings.
Summary: We’re five miles down the back roads, still humming tunelessly along, when you pull over on the dusty shoulder. The sun sizzles on my skin, but there is snow on the mountains. There’s a Joshua tree next to us. I can’t live, with or without you. Except Bono’s wrong. I can live with you, now.
Beta: I have been shamelessly going beta-less. I invite anyone interested to put me out of my misery, but you have to be merciless on me.
Feedback: I can pretend I am indifferent, but in reality I am gagging for it.

[EDIT] I forgot the disclaimer. So, this never happened. I also have proven my need of a beta reader, because I just realized I went from past to present tense halfway through the story. I'll just pretend it was deliberate until I can convince my sleepy arse to fix it.



Workmen tear tape and wires from the asphalt underneath my feet. Lights blink out. Familiar faces were here before, but they’ve all gone in search of shinier facades. I wonder how many I will ever hear from again. I don’t think I really care.

Have you ever looked at something ordinary, only to have it become the dearest thing you’ve ever seen?

I have now. Phosphorescent green, unnaturally so, as unnatural as they’ll say we are. Lights pick out letters—Topanga Canyon Blvd, ¾ mi.

Nothing about this strange city is natural, so what’s two more specks of unnatural? I have beer, a blanket, and another set of clothes. And taking this exit is the most natural thing I have ever done in my life. How can such a small thing enrage so many people?

You were surprised to see me. You asked me who died. Is that what you think it takes for me to come to you, now? You repeated the question. I wanted to say I died, but not really. I wanted to say I was reborn, to show you the dead layer of skin I had shed, but even in my head it sounded foolish.

I tried for a crooked grin as I leaned on your doorjamb. Your house was quiet. Henry in college; the dogs asleep.

I have beer, I said, and you raised an eyebrow. We could go out in the country. Ride. Fish. Like we used to.

Your eyes narrowed in the lamplight. In the dark? you questioned. My smile faded a bit as I leaned closer to you. No, old man, there are better things to do in the dark. My lower lip begins to sting from the press of my teeth against it. You’re confused, but you were never one to back away from a challenge. You turn and pad into your house, leaving the door open. It’s all the invitation I need.

We don’t leave right away. This isn’t the movies and there are details to be seen to. But soon enough we are driving into orange sunlight creeping over the mountains. LA is at our backs; my hand is on your knee; and Pink Floyd is on the stereo. I wasn’t born when this song came out. You were. And right now there’s nothing more between us than that.

We’re five miles down the back roads, still humming tunelessly along, when you pull over on the dusty shoulder. The sun sizzles on my skin, but there is snow on the mountains. There’s a Joshua tree next to us. I can’t live, with or without you. Except Bono’s wrong. I can live with you, now.

It’s official. I’m completely daft. You agree, and ask me exactly when I went and lost my mind. I tell you it was yesterday, but it was really that night on the dead man’s hill.

That was a long time ago. But yesterday just happened, but I can tell you haven’t heard. You never did get tangled up in Hollywood vines. So I tell you, and you say nothing, just look straight ahead. I pick at a hangnail as the silence stretches between us. It grows thinner and thinner, until I think it might snap.

I feel your fingers on my face, turning me sideways like you used to, until your pale eyes are reflecting in mine. I think there must be sand in my eyes, and in yours too, or maybe we are just poncy fools who...who...nevermind. Your scarred lip nudges its way between mine, and I can taste your breath, and your tears, and it’s been so longtoolongwhydidIwaitsolong?

Your hand is at my crown and you pull on crinkled strands until my eyes meet yours again. Why? You ask me.

I can’t get the words to cooperate, but it has something to do with hourglasses and disposable fortunes that no longer satisfy. I am afraid of different things now. Afraid that I will spend my life drinking of praise from strangers, but find myself alone when they move on. They all move on. Except you.

I’ve chosen to stop being alone, because I am complete rubbish at being alone. I want you with me. The two of us, together, and fuck everyone else. They’re not real and they never were. We were real, even if we only kept it in our heads, and in our hearts.

I stop now, breathless. I don’t know if that made sense, but I can see in your eyes that you understood every word. You bring your lips to my cheek and catch the streaks of salt before they drop off my chin.

I close my eyes and feel my body pressed into yours. My head falls down on your shoulder. You smell the same, and I inhale you again just because I can. The car hums as you pull back onto the road. You start to sing, and I smile.

The Power of Two

Now the parking lot is empty
Everyone's gone someplace
I pick you up and in the trunk I've packed
A cooler and a two day suitcase
'Cause there's a place we like to drive
Way out in the country
Five miles out of the city limit we're singin'
And your hand's upon my leg

[chorus]So we're ok, we're fine
Baby I'm here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
Look at them together then we'll take them apart
Adding up the total of a love that's true
Multiply life by the power of two.

And now the things that I am afraid of
I'm not afraid to tell
And if we ever leave a legacy
It's that we loved each other well

'Cause I've seen the shadows of so many people
Trying on the treasures of youth
But a road that fancy and fast ends in a fatal crash
And I'm glad we got off, to tell you the truth

[chorus]

All the shiny little trinkets of temptation
Something new instead of something old
But all you gotta do is scratch beneath the surface
And it's fool's gold
Fool's gold

Now we're talking about a difficult thing
Your eyes are getting wet
I took us for better and I took us for worse
And don't you ever forget it

Now the steel bars between me and a promise
Suddenly bend with ease
And the closer I'm bound in love to you
The closer I am to free

[chorus]



Title: Free In You
Author: mellacita
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slightly angsty, maybe, but it's mostly sappy and smutty.
Summary: Each time I try to unpack my regrets, to look them at them in the light, you tell me to put them away. Because regrets are ugly, and there is no room for ugliness here in this bed.
Disclaimer: Don't know them, this never happened.
Feedback: I wonder, is it more effective to pretend you don’t care, or to beg for it?

Previous Ficlets in this “Series”
Face to Face | Power of Two | Mystery


The harder I tried to be happy, the less I was. Months passed like rainstorms, in puddles of make-believe and flashes of lightening bouncing off one red carpet after another. I had my friends, my family, and they had me. But I was alone, even when I was embraced by millions of arms. My mirror stopped speaking to me; even he didn’t know what to say anymore.

I thought about calling you. A lot. I even did, a few times. We would chat about the exploits of the hobbits, now living separate lives around the world, or about Bean’s latest film, or Liv’s new baby. We’d catch each other up on our latest projects, pretend to be enthusiastic about them, and promise to meet up sometime soon. We both meant it, I think, but we never did. Until tonight.

I didn’t know you were going to be there tonight. I used to always know where you were, even though I never did anything about it. You always knew where I was, too. Did you know I would be there? Is that why you came? You don’t normally go for these types of things.

I felt your gaze on me, and my quick glance to the side confirmed it. You were looking intently at me, your expression as inscrutable as it was the first time we met. You caught my eye, and I suddenly felt as if my ribcage was half again too small. I think the small group of hangers-on beside me could hear the beating of my heart.

Your gaze drank in my presence in a long, cool gulp. You flicked your eyes to a doorway and excused yourself to the woman at your elbow. She pouted a bit as you walked away.

Did you mean for me to follow you? I had no idea. But it had been too long since I had the chance. Our lives don’t allow many chances anymore. I untangled myself from the small talk and made my way to the same doorway.

It led to a deck that overlooked the beach. I could smell the salt drifting off the surf. You were alone, resting your elbows on the wooden rail, a beer bottle dangling from your hands. No one else was stupid enough to abandon the comfort of the party for the unusual cold drizzle falling from a moonless sky.

The rain grew to fat droplets, beading on my eyelashes, splashing in your beer. You leaned your head back and started catching them on your tongue.

Still as crazy as ever, Viggo. I think I said that out loud, because you laughed, and asked me to join you. And of course I did. All you ever had to do was ask. I closed my eyes and let the rain fall into my mouth. It tasted like smog. I wrinkled my nose, and when I opened my eyes, your lips were nearly on my own. You told me to close my eyes again, and I did.

We were alone on the deck, forgotten by those inside. Had someone braved the cold and the rain to walk along the beach, they would have seen your long fingers tangling through my hair, drifting along my neck, to my jaw. They’d have seen the way I wrapped my arms around your shoulders and the way the rain on my face made me look like I was crying. They would have seen two people relearning lessons long forgotten by necessity.

They would have seen one of us grab the other by the hand and head to his car. The dark and the rain would have prevented them from seeing who led who, though. I’m not sure myself.

Sometime over the past few years I had convinced myself I didn’t love you anymore. And that you didn’t want me anymore. That shared experiences made us friends for life, but that was all. You convinced me otherwise, tonight.

You laid me down and ran fingertips down my sides, over my ribs, palming my chest. When my own hands sought you out, you snared them and placed warm kisses on the knuckles before setting them back down at my sides. And you continued. Sometimes light flicks of cool nail against my skin. Sometimes hot, possessive grasps. Always your lips, in the hollow of my neck, along the ridge of my ear, over my eyelids. Swallowing my breathless whimpers. How could I have ever thought you didn’t want me? That I didn’t want you?

Was it raining inside now, too? My eyelashes were wet again. Before I could ask you, I felt your strong hands move down my belly and to my thighs. They made me shiver. Your fingers circled my ankle and brought my foot to your shoulder. You rubbed your knuckles over the arch of my foot while placing small kisses on my ankle. It was too much, and I covered my eyes with my hands as my back arched. You placed my foot back on the bed and poured back up my body, taking my hands again. You said you wanted to see my beautiful face, so please stop covering it. My chuckle was more a hiccup because as you said it, you sat back up and took my other foot in your hand. It took everything I had to leave my hands where they were, fingers clenching the duvet.

Soon you had one arm under my knee, and I started a little when I felt your slippery finger rubbing me, grazing over me until it slipped inside, making me groan. You added another, stretching, adjusting the angle until you got what you wanted: me, incoherent, face scrunched up with the overwhelming pleasure racing up my spine. Some small, functioning part of my brain was amazed. I was thisclose to coming and you hadn’t so much as breathed on my cock.

Enough thought, though. Thought was impossible once I felt you slide inside me. No words were possible either, which was fine, because I heard you all the same. You finally reached down to stroke me, setting a maddening rhythm. It wasn’t long before I was coming, so hard, tears leaking through my tightly closed eyelids. I was flying, free of worries and ugly realities and the laws of physics. I rose up to meet you, faster and faster, so I could bring you with me.

And now I am here, boneless, in your bed, and your body is shielding me from the cold. Your cheek is pressed to my own, and we are both wide awake. Each time I start to unpack my regrets, to look them at them in the light, you tell me to put them away. Because regrets are ugly, and there is no room for ugliness here in this bed.

I lay still and supine next to you as you tell me about a recent trip to see your horses, and your next exhibit. Then you tell me how proud you are of the man I have become, and how I should be too. It surprises me. I don’t thank you, though gratitude tries to trip off my tongue.

How could I have thought I didn’t love you? Of course I love you.

Of course, you say. Of course I love you too.


A hard knock
A cold clock
Ticking off my time
A long look
But no luck
Couldn't seem to find
Or unwind
Into peace of mind
While I was trying

A quick glance
A big chance
My heart beat like a drum
I saw you
And I knew
Chances just don't come
Round again
Not like this
First a laugh
Then a kiss

[chorus]
And I'm free in you
I've got no worries on my mind
I know what to do
That's to treat you right
And love you kind
Thank you ever on my mind
Love is just like breathing
When it's true
And I'm free in you

The lost time
And self pride
Are my big mistakes
A clear voice
A bad choice
Sounding like an ache
In my day
Not too bad
But too real
To go away

[chorus]

And I don't know
How you show
Such gentle disregard
For the ugly in me
That I see
That for so long
I took so hard
And I truly believe
That you see the best in me
I'm in love
We all love
And that thought
Sets me free


Author: mellacita
Title: Love's Recovery
Rating: PG
Summary: Snapshots along the path to Love's Recovery.
Warning: slightly angsty
Archive: just my LJ for now, thanks
Disclaimer: I highly doubt Viggo or Orlando base their actions and thoughts on old Indigo Girls songs, but in case it's not obvious, I made this up. Could you imagine Orlando living in Idaho? gawd.

Not my usual style at all. I would probably like it from others but on me it just feels pretentious. But I felt the need to experiment a little after so many months of other stuff. Inspired by an old Indigo Girls tune, "Love's Recovery." Lyrics follow the ficlet.

Previous Indigo Girls semi-songfics here





“I don’t know what else to do.” Please tell me what else I can do.

“There’s nothing else.” Anything else, please.

Shivers wrought by backs against cold ground. A distant laugh. The blink of a jet against a soulful sky.
Unity by the warmth of clasped hands, the taste of warm breath. Betrayal by light and lens more powerful than any magnifying glass. Shame unwelcome, and therefore unfelt.

“How long?” Too long.

“A few months, maybe. It's just, you know...the rumours.” A very long time, but I’ll pretend.

A shrill whistle. A rustling at his side. The slide of metal parting, pressure released, thirst quenched.

“Another?” Please don’t go.

“Sure.” How can I do this?

“Cheers.” Here’s to us.

“Salud.” Here’s to you.

A long moment gazing at the stars, waiting for the lights to coalesce into something more directive, but stars are stubborn, and do not move.

****

“Heard from Dom the other day.” He wanted to make sure I was okay.

“Really? How’s he doing?” How disgusted is he with me?

Floorboards creak under newly laid carpet. The house is old, but the occupants are new, mercurial. Heads cradled by soft leather, a rip in one corner from a dog’s claw.

“Looks like things are turning around for him.” He’s so jealous of you.

“That’s great. How’s everyone else? Elijah?” Is it my fault I’ve been so lucky?

“Busy.” Moved on. New projects.

“Yeah, I know how that is.” Too well.

“Ian asked about it, you know.” I thought he would agree with me, but he didn’t.

“I—Ian...” It’s different for Ian.

“He isn’t upset with you.” He’s upset with the world.

“He must be, a little.” He knows better than anyone how much of a hyprocrite I've become.

“He’s not. He’d tell you himself if you’d call him back.” Hiding won’t help.

“Mmm.” I’m still going to try.

“Want some wine?” Please don’t go.

“Yeah, that’s be great.” Please don’t ask me to go.

Emptiness at his side, a tinkling of glass sounding from the kitchen. Shifting leather, flannel against nape, causing familiar intoxication long before the liquid slides and sooths over nerves.

***

Yourselves in younger days knew nothing and thought they knew everything, and they were wrong about both, anyway. A scene replays on the backs of eyelids in cool evenings lying together in the grass, connected by invisible signals that travel to orbit and back before reaching another’s ear.

You'd travel further if you had to.

“It’s a ring.” You got me a ring?

“It’s a ring.” It’s everything I want for you.

“But, what about--?” What you said?

“I know what I said.” It was a lovely dream in a lovely world that we are about to leave.

Copper metal smoothed against copper skin, a hand raised to lips. Condesation pooling in the etching of language no one knows but everyone will understand.

“You said we couldn’t.” You were wrong.

“I said we’ll see. You’re –“ I’m hedging my bets.

“Young, have opportunities, need to explore before settling down.” You think I’m a stupid kid.

“I just don’t want you to regret.” Losing you might kill me.

Hands slide along a bristly scalp. Fingertips burn, emboss, in the best possible way.

“I won’t.” I’m not a stupid kid.

“Don’t tempt the fates.” I know you’re not, and that makes it even harder.

“So what are you doing to do, then?” Just say what you actually mean.

“I’m going to love you.” I mean it.


***

A pinch on the bridge of a slightly crooked nose in time with a rub of callused hand against the neck, separated by a few billion gallons of water.

“But I love you.” Not again.

“Do you?” Tell me again.

“You don’t believe me?” You know I do.

“What am I supposed to do? Just wait around?” That doesn’t always seem so bad, but today it’s pissing me off.

“I don’t know.” Yes. You said you would.

Don’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayit…

“Have you fucked her?” I know you haven’t.

“Excuse me?" You know I haven’t.

“You spend a lot of time together.” She can be seen with you and not have to worry about what people will think.

“I don’t believe this.” If I had, you'd think I'd at least be able to look at her and smile on occasion, you know. And I don’t.

Stopitstopitstopit… Lips keep moving even as intention fades. Head meets wall, re-ignites anger.

“You have.” Can you disconnect my mouth from my brain, please?

“Would you believe me if I said I no?” Don’t you trust me?

Hesitation. A second or two. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a thousand pictures is worth a single moment like this one.

“Then what’s the point?” You don’t.

“Maybe there is no point.” Maybe I was right all along.

Disconnection.

***

Knuckles meet wood, and soon after, heads meet shoulders.

“I’m... sorry.” Please stop looking so hollow.

“I know.” I’ll believe anything you say as long as you stay here.

“It’s just--.” I hate this.

“I know. I hate it too.” Stay here with me. I can't be here alone, anymore.

“You... I know you...haven’t.” You wouldn’t.

“I wouldn’t.” I haven’t.

Chains catch on one another. A scrape of five o’clock shadow raises bumps. A scrape of fingernails raises a shirt.

“Let me?” I don’t think I could ever give this up.

“Please.” Don’t stop, it might kill me.

Immediate needs give way to future dreams, goosedown tangled between long legs.

“One day we’ll tell this town to fuck off, right?” Tell me it will all be worth it.

“Yeah. You and me against the world. Growing weed and flowers in the middle of Idaho.” I’ll make it up to you, every day.

“Living off the land, and the money we’ve accumulated as ransom for our heterosexuality.” Just because I put up with it doesn’t mean I have to be thrilled.

“That’s a depressing way to look at it.” And astonishingly accurate.

“Not if you think it’s worth it.” I hope it will be worth it.

“You still think it’s worth it?” I swear I will make it worth it.

“Yes. I do.” It has to be.

Droplets of wine spill onto the duvet, adding to a scandalous mural they've painted together. Glasses passed from hand to hand, raised in another toast.

“To weed and flowers.” To getting through this.

“To one day.” To love’s recovery.



During the time of which I speak it was hard to turn the other cheek
To the blows of insecurity
Feeding the cancer of my intellect the blood of love soon neglected
Lay dying in the strength of its impurity
Meanwhile our friends we thought were so together
They've all gone and left each other in search of fairer weather
And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love's recovery.

There I am in younger days, star gazing,
Painting picture-perfect maps of how my life and love would be
Not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection
My compass, faith in love's perfection
I missed ten million miles of road I should have seen
Meanwhile our friends we thought were so together
Left each other one by one in search of fairer weather
And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love's recovery.

Rain soaked and voice choked like silent screaming in a dream
I search for our absolute distinction
Not content to bow and bend
To the whims of culture that swoop like vultures
Eating us away, eating us away
Eating us away to our extinction

Oh how I wish I were a trinity, so if I lost a part of me
I'd still have two of the same to live
But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal, as specks of dust we're universal
To let this love survive would be the greatest gift we could give
Tell all the friends who think they're so together
That these are ghosts and mirages, these thoughts of fairer weather
Though it's storming out I feel safe within the arms of love's discovery
-Love's Recovery, Indigo Girls