A Letter From Pete
Hey ho, I just found something I've written a while back that I never posted on here, it's short and I didn't edit it after finding it again so well...
Title: A Letter From Pete
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Genre: I don't know? Takes place back in the bad old days
Beta: none
Rating: G
Dear Carlos,
I couldn't sleep last night. I couldn't sleep the night before. And the one before that. I can't remember the last night I slept properly. It's 3:24 am and I'm sitting on the sofa, paper and pen, gin and cigs. At least it's a change from rumpled sheets. Ink is the only proof for my thoughts, my inner. Imagine me dying tonight and still all the headlines would say was "Junkie Doherty Overdosed" or "Golden Shot For Doherty". I know what you would say: "you're not gonna die, stop talkin' 'bout it." You'd ruffle my hair and try to smile encouraging, your lips curled up but compressed, as if you don't believe it yourself. Back then even that smile made my heart jump, made me feel save, made me love you more. If that is even possible. You'd smile this uncertain smile and I could forget the rest. But now you don't and so I can't stop it. Can't stop being conscious of the emptiness of my flat and how messy and dirty it is and that I am just like that. You are right, I think about the needle in my vein regularly but you know what? Not nearly as often as I think about you. About your mumbled words (do you know that I often had to suppress a grin when you talked to me? Just because hearing your voice made me happy) tumbling from your lips (oh, your lips, I can't explain why I never wrote a poem or a song about them) and your hair falling in your face. About your arms and your hands and your arse and your eyes. But the most I think about your soul. About your thoughts, the way you fidget with your arms when you explain something. And I have to think about leaving more at yours than a toothbrush, many fears and dreams. And now that you aren't with me I feel as if I lost them. The only thing I can do is hope that you won't be able to forget all those feelings and ideals and that they will remind you of me, of the one you loved and pushed away. Sorry love, I don't want you to suffer but I can't live with the thought of you not feeling guilty after what you did to me. Not now. But I still love you.
XX
Peter
Title: A Letter From Pete
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Genre: I don't know? Takes place back in the bad old days
Beta: none
Rating: G
Dear Carlos,
I couldn't sleep last night. I couldn't sleep the night before. And the one before that. I can't remember the last night I slept properly. It's 3:24 am and I'm sitting on the sofa, paper and pen, gin and cigs. At least it's a change from rumpled sheets. Ink is the only proof for my thoughts, my inner. Imagine me dying tonight and still all the headlines would say was "Junkie Doherty Overdosed" or "Golden Shot For Doherty". I know what you would say: "you're not gonna die, stop talkin' 'bout it." You'd ruffle my hair and try to smile encouraging, your lips curled up but compressed, as if you don't believe it yourself. Back then even that smile made my heart jump, made me feel save, made me love you more. If that is even possible. You'd smile this uncertain smile and I could forget the rest. But now you don't and so I can't stop it. Can't stop being conscious of the emptiness of my flat and how messy and dirty it is and that I am just like that. You are right, I think about the needle in my vein regularly but you know what? Not nearly as often as I think about you. About your mumbled words (do you know that I often had to suppress a grin when you talked to me? Just because hearing your voice made me happy) tumbling from your lips (oh, your lips, I can't explain why I never wrote a poem or a song about them) and your hair falling in your face. About your arms and your hands and your arse and your eyes. But the most I think about your soul. About your thoughts, the way you fidget with your arms when you explain something. And I have to think about leaving more at yours than a toothbrush, many fears and dreams. And now that you aren't with me I feel as if I lost them. The only thing I can do is hope that you won't be able to forget all those feelings and ideals and that they will remind you of me, of the one you loved and pushed away. Sorry love, I don't want you to suffer but I can't live with the thought of you not feeling guilty after what you did to me. Not now. But I still love you.
XX
Peter