100 Bed-Time Fics.8th Fragment
TITLE:The world through my eyes
DISCLAIMER: don't own 'em...
SUMMERY:. I know no matter how many times I get pulled out of that hold, it is the same hold I’ll return to once more-every time the music starts, every time my universe comes alive…
A/N:To mark my first anniversary as a fan-fic writer,A fic for my lovely Arya, whom I've bothered time and time again with my writing issues through out this past year...hope u enjoy, marshmallow!
“In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.” rumi
It is quiet at first, the world a silent standstill for me. I stand there…I stand where I’ve always stood. A stone-cold being in the midst of a muzzled wilderness…a wilderness so tame. Tame because it’s so familiar; as familiar as the back of my palm. I stand and I stare, I stare and let myself get drunk off those eyes. The beauty of whom no writer shall ever be able to express with mere words.
I stand and stare without another worry in the world. Not another thought.
I stand and I stare, and then the music starts playing. It reaches my ears first- tiny, ligneous ears- and then, flowing in like molten stone over unleveled ground, creeping slowly through my veins, it makes its way towards my heart. Once it has etched into every fiber of my stone still being, it runs through my non-existent veins like the breeze does over vast meadows- it runs wild and free.
Bliss fills my little universe. Enchanted and captivated still, I know the time is near again.
I feel my hand rise upwards without any effort; it’s almost like a body freefalling against gravity. Only for me, my universe, the centre of attraction, is none other then the eyes of the person standing opposite me. That is what attracts me, that is what decides what forces are to exist in my universe, what forces are to perish… because it’s not really my universe at all, it’s his universe!
I see my hand move forward, inching closer and closer towards his face---and then its there, hovering lightly over his cheek, not really touching it, just hanging in the air above the porcelain skin. My thumb reaches out, rubbing smooth circles into his cheekbone—in the background-- inside my soul-- the music continues---
With the same effortless ease, my left hand reaches out to find home on his hip. Our bodies draw closer to each other. My head bends slightly, tipping to the side as my legs take me a step closer yet, and for the next few seconds, which are like hours of eased movements to my dazed mind, we dance. Except it isn’t so much dancing at all as it is whirling round and round in circles of set radii. It is not so much the movement of our bodies as it is---in fact; I don’t really know what it is. But regardless of what it is that we are doing, in our hearts we know we’re dancing.
Another few seconds of the supposed dancing and then my hands drop to my sides, no longer holding on to him-- the cycle coming to an abrupt end almost too soon. Another tick of an invisible clock and my head is thrown up bolt. Within an instant; I’m standing back on the exact same spot where I started, where it all started. It is the point where my story starts, playing forever on loop. It is the same spot where the end of my story meets its beginning.
It isn’t alarming though, not one bit. On the contrary I am quiet used to this routine by now. It no longer worries me to see him step back. I know how our story works. It’s how we are supposed to happen, designed by the great power. Our fate has been written in permanency, our story once told, forever unchanged. I know no matter how many times I get pulled out of that hold, it is the same hold I’ll return to once more-every time the music starts, every time my universe comes alive…
“I named this little fellow Hankyung”, the artisan goes on to explain, I hear his voice rise in anticipant excitement as he goes on to explain, “and that one here is Heechul.” he finishes, as he stops turning the wooden handle. Looking up at us expectedly, he waits for us to catch the hidden meaning behind his seemingly insignificant words.
I, Of course, understand at once.
Dependant forever on the spinning of the handle to stay alive, the music dies. Dancing above the small piano, the dolls let go of each other. The one he calls Hankyung steps back and once again, goes still-lifeless- just as he had been before the music set his world alive.
The artisan, Sir Yamamoto Uki, a very talented young mechanical doll maker looks up at me, giving me a tight smile. He must be nervous-as am I. The look in his eyes as he eyes me expectantly is but a mere reflection of the expression on my face as I turn to the woman I love with all my heart. Watching to see her reaction
But contrary to what either of us expected, the words that leave her lips aren’t happy or displeased. They are, if anything confused.
“Are they---” she begins, sounding uncertain,”-- which of them is the guy?” she asks, looking up at me and then at him.
I let a smile answer that one for me; I’ve seen her write dozens of articles for magazines and newspapers on topics of ‘forbidden love’, An otherwise taboo subject in our conservative society. I’ve seen her go through all the torture of pointed fingers and accusing words, hate mails and death threats…I’ve seen her struggle to get recognition for her efforts, see her efforts bear fruit, bring a positive change in society…And it wont be claiming too much to say I knew exactly what this would mean to her while I was placing this order.
I see I was right in the instant our eyes meet again, her mind having grasped the meaning behind the gift. I see it in her eyes, in the way a wave of affection seemingly washes through her eyes as she looks at me from behind a sheen of tears, her face an expression of boundless love. Before I know it, she has thrown her arms around my neck.
“It’s beautiful!” she cries, voice a chocked whisper.
“It’s not nearly half as beautiful as you are.” I whisper back, my hand on her head trying to calm her down a little, a huge grin adorning my face.
“It’s not nearly half as beautiful as you are.” I hear him whisper into her ear, and a laugh nearly escapes my throat-nearly-before it gets stuck there.
“If only you could see the world through my eyes…” I think as I continue to stare, frozen for eternity, except for the few moments here and there when my universe comes alive.
Never growing tired of doing just that, I stand and I stare...