Title: I'll See Your Heart And Raise You Mine
Title: I'll See Your Heart And Raise You Mine
Beta: alias424
Rating: k+
Summary: Life is about reconciliation
A/N: eh, this is a slight departure for me style wise. So bare with me if its crap.
Feedback/Con-Crit is my drug of choice. After caffeine.
Life is about reconciliation.
The world, the life in which you inhabit, in which you stand with solid ground beneath your curling, flexing toes, is not the same as the world, the life you inhabit in your head. Your interpretation of the space in which you stand. An internal that does not equal the exterior. There are accidental borders and manufactured bridges, those places where both sides stretch to touch and hold through the surface of your skin like hands, reaching, lacing fingers and tying tight - hoping you can maintain the contact. You spend your life trying to align the worlds. To make them match. Adjust. Compromise. Accept. To combine and unite, bond one with the other - you hear success is euphoric.
You try to reconcile. With yourself.
You think and rethink and over-think.
You assume an understanding where there has been no explanation. You feel anger for a disagreement that has not occurred. Inside. Outside. The secrets you keep by choice, by accident. This is everyday. It is life.
(You could have sworn you...)
You make decisions you do not speak aloud that change this in your inside world. And you forget. That you must push these words out so that they may reshape the world outside you forget this is necessary and you let the decision colour your outside view, assuming that the obviousness of it, the way in which the choice has filled you and made you glow, that it is now loose in the world. In his world. In him. You had forgotten. To speak. Out loud.
There is a misalignment.
You cast around - internally - to find the broken beam - the place where the bridge from your truth detached from actuality.
A bridge with a half arc, extending from your heart - that you had assumed had continued onwards, over. Towards. That a mirroring abutment had been forged within him.
Three words were all it took.
You have reconciled nothing. Just the opposite.
*************
“....it's a military decision...”
“Frak, Bill. Can we not...military. Gods. I am asking as your wife, will you please just...”
Realities collide as words hit the air, and it is the resounding crash of silence that stops you. Never has a lack of sound been more tangible. It’s wrapped around you like a vice. You replay the scene in your head. Where it came from.
There is a misalignment...
(Oh.
Frak.
There it is. How careless. You could have sworn you...)
Realities. Differing. Because you know that while it is internal it is not imaginary, it is not fantasy or wishing. It is real. It just isn't reality. To him.
(Frak.)
You stare him down because you cannot look away. Searching his eyes for the sliver of insight into how his world is shaped, around this. You reach and realign and adjust to what you think is the course you are on now. You forget to breathe. And choke on a breath that coughs its way free. A hand to your mouth to stay any words that should attempt to follow suit. For once, words are failing. One word has already done the damage.
(Wife. Why did you have to say wife? Of all the...)
But you stand your ground and do not move. You tell yourself it is because you are brave. But you know that it is because your legs would not obey the command to flee.
You stay, you are brave.
(You're a coward, say something. Anything. Any other word. Change the world back. Change it back.)
You see the look on his face, the shift of air around him.
You wait - as you hear the clock tick from one hour in to the next, as the ship groans beneath your feet, as a group of pilots noisily make their way past the hatch.
You breathe in the world, in his world too. You inhabit it all in this instant. You are many things in this moment.
You are also - wrong.
Three realities collide. As he, with his, crosses the shared one and meets yours with his mouth.
You reconcile how he tastes against how you imagined.
You adjust to the mould of your body against his as he lifts your from the floor.
You compromise and settle for the desk as couch and rack seem too far away.
You accept the love he offers.
The world inside you expands and encompasses him. Or his encompasses you. You don't know. You don't care.
Realities marry.
It is more than euphoric. It is bliss.
Beta: alias424
Rating: k+
Summary: Life is about reconciliation
A/N: eh, this is a slight departure for me style wise. So bare with me if its crap.
Feedback/Con-Crit is my drug of choice. After caffeine.
Life is about reconciliation.
The world, the life in which you inhabit, in which you stand with solid ground beneath your curling, flexing toes, is not the same as the world, the life you inhabit in your head. Your interpretation of the space in which you stand. An internal that does not equal the exterior. There are accidental borders and manufactured bridges, those places where both sides stretch to touch and hold through the surface of your skin like hands, reaching, lacing fingers and tying tight - hoping you can maintain the contact. You spend your life trying to align the worlds. To make them match. Adjust. Compromise. Accept. To combine and unite, bond one with the other - you hear success is euphoric.
You try to reconcile. With yourself.
You think and rethink and over-think.
You assume an understanding where there has been no explanation. You feel anger for a disagreement that has not occurred. Inside. Outside. The secrets you keep by choice, by accident. This is everyday. It is life.
(You could have sworn you...)
You make decisions you do not speak aloud that change this in your inside world. And you forget. That you must push these words out so that they may reshape the world outside you forget this is necessary and you let the decision colour your outside view, assuming that the obviousness of it, the way in which the choice has filled you and made you glow, that it is now loose in the world. In his world. In him. You had forgotten. To speak. Out loud.
There is a misalignment.
You cast around - internally - to find the broken beam - the place where the bridge from your truth detached from actuality.
A bridge with a half arc, extending from your heart - that you had assumed had continued onwards, over. Towards. That a mirroring abutment had been forged within him.
Three words were all it took.
You have reconciled nothing. Just the opposite.
*************
“....it's a military decision...”
“Frak, Bill. Can we not...military. Gods. I am asking as your wife, will you please just...”
Realities collide as words hit the air, and it is the resounding crash of silence that stops you. Never has a lack of sound been more tangible. It’s wrapped around you like a vice. You replay the scene in your head. Where it came from.
There is a misalignment...
(Oh.
Frak.
There it is. How careless. You could have sworn you...)
Realities. Differing. Because you know that while it is internal it is not imaginary, it is not fantasy or wishing. It is real. It just isn't reality. To him.
(Frak.)
You stare him down because you cannot look away. Searching his eyes for the sliver of insight into how his world is shaped, around this. You reach and realign and adjust to what you think is the course you are on now. You forget to breathe. And choke on a breath that coughs its way free. A hand to your mouth to stay any words that should attempt to follow suit. For once, words are failing. One word has already done the damage.
(Wife. Why did you have to say wife? Of all the...)
But you stand your ground and do not move. You tell yourself it is because you are brave. But you know that it is because your legs would not obey the command to flee.
You stay, you are brave.
(You're a coward, say something. Anything. Any other word. Change the world back. Change it back.)
You see the look on his face, the shift of air around him.
You wait - as you hear the clock tick from one hour in to the next, as the ship groans beneath your feet, as a group of pilots noisily make their way past the hatch.
You breathe in the world, in his world too. You inhabit it all in this instant. You are many things in this moment.
You are also - wrong.
Three realities collide. As he, with his, crosses the shared one and meets yours with his mouth.
You reconcile how he tastes against how you imagined.
You adjust to the mould of your body against his as he lifts your from the floor.
You compromise and settle for the desk as couch and rack seem too far away.
You accept the love he offers.
The world inside you expands and encompasses him. Or his encompasses you. You don't know. You don't care.
Realities marry.
It is more than euphoric. It is bliss.