Night
by Samantha
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't think I need to disclaim cause I use no names, so ha joss, ha, yeah the story is about who you think it is though, oh lyrics are to #1 crush by garbage.
Notes: Come on people we gotta pull ourselves away from our real lives and come back to writing stories all the time!
Feedback: Please.
::I will pray for you I will pray for you I will sell my soul for something pure and true for someone like you::
It's dark out, no surprise there; I never seem to be able to drag myself out of bed before dark. Might have something to do with the fact I rarely get to bed before dawn. Gives you a whole other outlook on life. I mean anyone will tell you the night makes them feel free, it's natural, it's human. In the dark we don't stand out as much, you feel like you can get away with more.
Maybe that's just my own twisted view on things though, it's totally possible, I know I don't think about things the way other people do. The way you do. I've always liked the night more, even when I was little. Some people are so afraid of what may be hiding in the shadows, but me, I'm more worried about what's staring at you midday disguised while you're blinded by the sun. That scares the shit out of me, night seems more honest.
You're kinda like the sun in a way. Nobody sees any of your faults do they? None of the itty-bitty cracks breaking you apart one by one, the tape holding you together, already tearing with the pressure. They don't see it do they? Only perfect fabulous you. It's a nice game you've got going on, dangerous as hell, but nice all the same. See with me, the only things people see are the cracks, gapping, hallow cracks, things clawing to get out of them. When they see those they do one of two things, run, or stay and try to help me.
Not that I want any of their help, I'd rather lay down in traffic on a rainy day. But you, see you want the help, but you're afraid to ask for it, afraid to show that you need it, because to need it is weak, and you are anything but weak. Me? I'm fucking weak, I get by, but that's all, I don't live. You can't live and be weak. I know you think I'm the strong one, but that's bull shit, don't believe the hype I put out. It's crap. I can see your strength, but I also see the fractures in your eyes, the pain.
That's why you like me though isn't it? No you don't need to answer that, I know you don't even know why you like me. You must ask yourself all the time how you keep finding yourself in night's arms. Trust me, I am just as confused to be holding the sun. Yet here we are in bed again, window open, cool breeze tickling over us, breathing gentle on each other's skin, breathe, breathe, that's it, just breathe. When you talk your voice cracks and I know it's a secret between us, this little trust we have is just another one of your fears. You think you'll end up alone, that no one will ever get you the way I do again. That they won't love you.
Impossible.
You're fire, you burn brighter than most people can stand to look directly at, but they all love you. Your friends, your family, all of them, and if you let them see your wounds they will help you heal them. It's what I try to tell you every night, cause I can't help you, I can't even help me. I can see your pain, but I don't know what to do about it, and half the time I help cause it. You don't believe that though.
And every night there's a knock on the door, and every night I let you in, two seconds of conversation before we forget the language, and all we can do is touch, you're on my bed again, and I am doing my best to make you believe, and maybe just a little bit to help you forget.