Post by A Moment In Subtext on Feb 9, 2008 0:47:41 GMT -5
Doctor Who
Come Spring
By. A Moment In Subtext
Come spring, you'll take me to a planet where the sky is pink and the sun is blue, and everything will seem cast in silver as the double moons rise. There will be a picnic, because there always is, in spring, and you'll take me away from the group, and sit me down on a red and white checkered blanket, and pull a picnic basket out of your pocket.
We'll sit, eat chips, and talk for hours, until the moons fall from the sky and the sunrise shines gold on the horizon. When we turn away from it, you'll pack up the picnic, and the others will be sleeping, so we'll walk alongside the lake, letting the water lap at our feet.
Come spring, you'll look at me as if I'm the only thing in the world of any importance, and I'll blush and scuff my feet. And you'll yell at me for ruining the new shoes you gave me. So I'll throw some sand at you, and you'll stick your tongue out at me as it misses. We'll spend the day like that, just you and me.
The rain will come as a surprise to everyone (even you, and you could have just looked it up, but you didn't, because where's the fun in that), and everyone else will scatter. The sky will rumble, and the waves will throw themselves at the edges of the lake at the bidding of the angry wind. A vein of quicksilver will split the sky, and from that wound the rain will fall. At first, it will seem to be no more than a shower, and everyone will stay, but soon it will grow swifter, and more demanding. Everyone else will run away, but not us.
Come spring, we'll hold hands in that rain, laughing and spinning, and getting drenched to the bone. You'll look like a drowned rat when it stops, and I won't look any better, but neither of us will care. You'll smile at me, and pull me closer as the wind picks up speed, the raindrops becoming icy bullets, and you'll try to protect me as best you can.
As you hold me, you'll feel me change, my soft curves flattening, changing in shape and size. When the rain finally stops, and we part again, you'll look and realize that you've replaced me, just a little bit.
Come spring, you'll remember that I've gone, not of choice, but of necessity, and that you've not danced with me in almost a year. You'll remember the last time we stood on this planet with the pink sky and the blue sun, when the rain fell and we danced, happy and carefree (and reckless, and so very much in love).
And from my place on the other side of this wall, I'll look up at the blue sky and the yellow sun, and wait for the rain to come.
Come Spring
By. A Moment In Subtext
Come spring, you'll take me to a planet where the sky is pink and the sun is blue, and everything will seem cast in silver as the double moons rise. There will be a picnic, because there always is, in spring, and you'll take me away from the group, and sit me down on a red and white checkered blanket, and pull a picnic basket out of your pocket.
We'll sit, eat chips, and talk for hours, until the moons fall from the sky and the sunrise shines gold on the horizon. When we turn away from it, you'll pack up the picnic, and the others will be sleeping, so we'll walk alongside the lake, letting the water lap at our feet.
Come spring, you'll look at me as if I'm the only thing in the world of any importance, and I'll blush and scuff my feet. And you'll yell at me for ruining the new shoes you gave me. So I'll throw some sand at you, and you'll stick your tongue out at me as it misses. We'll spend the day like that, just you and me.
The rain will come as a surprise to everyone (even you, and you could have just looked it up, but you didn't, because where's the fun in that), and everyone else will scatter. The sky will rumble, and the waves will throw themselves at the edges of the lake at the bidding of the angry wind. A vein of quicksilver will split the sky, and from that wound the rain will fall. At first, it will seem to be no more than a shower, and everyone will stay, but soon it will grow swifter, and more demanding. Everyone else will run away, but not us.
Come spring, we'll hold hands in that rain, laughing and spinning, and getting drenched to the bone. You'll look like a drowned rat when it stops, and I won't look any better, but neither of us will care. You'll smile at me, and pull me closer as the wind picks up speed, the raindrops becoming icy bullets, and you'll try to protect me as best you can.
As you hold me, you'll feel me change, my soft curves flattening, changing in shape and size. When the rain finally stops, and we part again, you'll look and realize that you've replaced me, just a little bit.
Come spring, you'll remember that I've gone, not of choice, but of necessity, and that you've not danced with me in almost a year. You'll remember the last time we stood on this planet with the pink sky and the blue sun, when the rain fell and we danced, happy and carefree (and reckless, and so very much in love).
And from my place on the other side of this wall, I'll look up at the blue sky and the yellow sun, and wait for the rain to come.