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blue_bells» Title: Fifteen Minutes [G]
» Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
_bluebells | k(at)noiresensus(dot)com | http://www.noiresensus.com
» Fandom: Tekken
» Status: Complete
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s): None
» Summary: He wants to see them again, but this will do for now.
Fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes, that's all you need.
It's just enough time to say hello, share a word and leave without outstaying your welcome; but fifteen minutes also lets the time seem precious so that when you leave, the moment is still fresh. You would have stayed just long enough that it would have been an insufficient amount for them to get re-accustomed to your presence.
A brief respite?
When your fifteen minutes are up, maybe they won't be sure if you were really there to begin with? It should be easier to recall a fifteen minute memory instead of an overnight's duration. There's little doubt that you will not remember.
A moment to breathe?
The black text sits complacently on your monitor against the pale, starched white of an email body.
Come back....
You find yourself staring at your hands (why do you notice that they look strangely pale?) lying motionless on the keyboard. It strikes you that they should be moving to form a response, maybe just this once. This time it seems important and for some reason you keep glancing at the clock, back over your shoulder at the empty apartment, at the words scrawled across the screen.
If this reaches you....
A heated anxiety rests in your chest and you breathe deeply to clear it, but it only seems supressed. No one knows. You realise it's foreboding clenching your lungs when you consider the possibilities if that would change. Every year, every so few months the emails come.... What would it mean if things changed and you let them know that you're alive? That you are, for the meanwhile, safe? That they're one of the few things you think about every day and if you returned, it would be for them?
Please write back.
Would fifteen minutes be enough? Never mind if it would be fair.... Would it be right? Would it be feasible? It's too bad that you gave up the luxury of throwing caution to the wind. It's too bad that you pretend you don't understand the meaning of 'luxury'.
If you can, please come home....
Luxury is kinship. Luxury is having a home to return to at the end of the day when you want to leave the world to its problems and not be counted as one of them. Luxury is intimacy. Luxury is not having to worry about what the coming day will bring. 'Luxury' is peace.
Come home for Christmas.
Fifteen minutes would be a luxury... but as your hands move to write the briefest of replies, you know it's not one that you may have. Not yet, anyway.
For now, this will have to do.
» Author:
_bluebells | k(at)noiresensus(dot)com | http://www.noiresensus.com» Fandom: Tekken
» Status: Complete
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s): None
» Summary: He wants to see them again, but this will do for now.
Fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes, that's all you need.
It's just enough time to say hello, share a word and leave without outstaying your welcome; but fifteen minutes also lets the time seem precious so that when you leave, the moment is still fresh. You would have stayed just long enough that it would have been an insufficient amount for them to get re-accustomed to your presence.
A brief respite?
When your fifteen minutes are up, maybe they won't be sure if you were really there to begin with? It should be easier to recall a fifteen minute memory instead of an overnight's duration. There's little doubt that you will not remember.
A moment to breathe?
The black text sits complacently on your monitor against the pale, starched white of an email body.
Come back....
You find yourself staring at your hands (why do you notice that they look strangely pale?) lying motionless on the keyboard. It strikes you that they should be moving to form a response, maybe just this once. This time it seems important and for some reason you keep glancing at the clock, back over your shoulder at the empty apartment, at the words scrawled across the screen.
If this reaches you....
A heated anxiety rests in your chest and you breathe deeply to clear it, but it only seems supressed. No one knows. You realise it's foreboding clenching your lungs when you consider the possibilities if that would change. Every year, every so few months the emails come.... What would it mean if things changed and you let them know that you're alive? That you are, for the meanwhile, safe? That they're one of the few things you think about every day and if you returned, it would be for them?
Please write back.
Would fifteen minutes be enough? Never mind if it would be fair.... Would it be right? Would it be feasible? It's too bad that you gave up the luxury of throwing caution to the wind. It's too bad that you pretend you don't understand the meaning of 'luxury'.
If you can, please come home....
Luxury is kinship. Luxury is having a home to return to at the end of the day when you want to leave the world to its problems and not be counted as one of them. Luxury is intimacy. Luxury is not having to worry about what the coming day will bring. 'Luxury' is peace.
Come home for Christmas.
Fifteen minutes would be a luxury... but as your hands move to write the briefest of replies, you know it's not one that you may have. Not yet, anyway.
For now, this will have to do.
