there's still a part of me left for you ; emily/alison ; g
A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover. -- Charles Bukowski
Her heart has changed. Love has changed, for her. There are things -- people -- she loves. Has loved. But they aren't the same.
What she still misses are those tiny moments, the ones that blur together until they're just a moment singular. Alison turning to her in class, grinning, handing her a note. Their fingers brush together. In the hallway in between classes, Alison bumping her shoulder playfully. Their eyes meeting across a crowded room: a school assembly; the Founder's Day festival; a party; in Philly, out shopping. A shared smile. Alison coming up behind her, covering Emily's eyes with her hands, whispering guess who, her breath warm and sugary. Emily can imagine a thousand lifetimes of turning around to see Alison.
They didn't have a love that could last. They never had a love at all. Even now Emily isn't entirely sure what it was that they did have. A
( ... )
This is absolutely wonderful! I love the way you've written Emily and the connection she feels/felt to Alison and how she'll never really have that again even if she can be happy in a different way.The way you write is lovely and you've painted so much of Emily and Alison's interaction in such a short space, capturing an entire portion of their relationship and I really, really love this.
I really like this! Especially: "What she still misses are those tiny moments, the ones that blur together until they're just a moment singular." Just, guh. All the little moments you weaved together were just wonderful. You've got Emily down to a tee. And the quote at the beginning was perfect for these two. Great work! :)
A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.
-- Charles Bukowski
Her heart has changed. Love has changed, for her. There are things -- people -- she loves. Has loved. But they aren't the same.
What she still misses are those tiny moments, the ones that blur together until they're just a moment singular. Alison turning to her in class, grinning, handing her a note. Their fingers brush together. In the hallway in between classes, Alison bumping her shoulder playfully. Their eyes meeting across a crowded room: a school assembly; the Founder's Day festival; a party; in Philly, out shopping. A shared smile. Alison coming up behind her, covering Emily's eyes with her hands, whispering guess who, her breath warm and sugary. Emily can imagine a thousand lifetimes of turning around to see Alison.
They didn't have a love that could last. They never had a love at all. Even now Emily isn't entirely sure what it was that they did have. A ( ... )
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