I don't feel like that -- Beach

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Date Posted: 21:04:23 05/24/02 Fri
Author: Harry Potter
Subject: I don't feel like that
In reply to: ginny weasley 's message, "you and i both know thats not true.." on 20:00:59 05/20/02 Mon

An abrasive torrent of guilt was gnawing, corroding, wasting away inside of his mind and making him ineffably cold inside like a frigid sarsar that was tearing him into a million pieces of ruin; too cold to breathe, to move, for a moment, consumed him clementlessly as he listened with near bated breath to her justifiably disheveled and empathetically panging confessions. The rapport he experienced caused him to ache inside terribly, the barely sufferable woe the equivalent of someone ripping out his spinal column (in a less physical sense, someone had done that) to the point where he wanted to collapse beside her. However, he had to remain the puissant one in the picturesque image of angsty, melancholy, when his spirit, or lack thereof, was ravanged and sundered into a sniveling and helplessly prostrate state. He was supine and vulnerably disoriented and submissive to the woes of today and tomorrow until the day that he perished eternally, and the prospect was bleak that he would be able to continue absconding as he was from his nemisis unscathed forever. Forever wasn't a relivant term; it was too susceptible to change. However much the quote was a platitude, nothing lasted forever. Even love would one day wither when the beholders of the immoderate, seemingly indestructible bond were swept away by the deftly dexterious talons of death.

With a civil war ferociously raging inside of his cluttered, overwhelmed head, in the motion one would use to genuflect, he kneeled downward to be able to connect with her visually, although he found himself rather awkward in such a position in more than one sense of the word. Viciously anticipating apprehension eroded at his nerves in attempt to stupefy him into a torpid, speechless tactlessness, but he knew the moment was far too crucial to let anything effect him. She was far too different, the opposite of mundane and most everything he had been exposed to, and it intrigued him to an extent that one can't describe properly in literary terms. Perhaps what he felt waging battle inside of him for her was something beyond simple intrigue; perhaps viewing her suffer, because of him, insensitively insolent, verbally incompetent to say the right things at the right times, his lack of stability because of his recent life, con amore needy him. His seemingly crucial vinctures with the person that had dealt him a fatal blow because of their lack of solicitude were schisming him, bit by minute bit, until the point where he felt inclined to flee from her to escape the painful clouts she delivered to him. He was fading; warped into a world of colorlessness because he was deprived of the merest of touches of her's - pathetically at her mercy, menial slave to her every whimper; blindly and sadly devoted. He couldn't rely on her to be his other half, because one and one made two, and when he was completely dependent on her, he was falling back on air.

However, being as craving as he was and ligated to the mere required necessity of tenderness and comfort, it was requisite that he find some solace, and offering it at the same time to another someone he felt himself slipping blithely into a sort of fall for was something he didn't object to at all. Travail was an apropos word to the pain he endured when she ennunicated her malaise, incubus plagued words; daggers to him because he held such gargantuan affinity to her statements. The probing, searching, emerald eyes, their brilliance a metaphor to beacons, transfixed onto her mournful, adversity interlarded lazuline stare, so sore and fed up, not unlike his. He exhaled, the sigh gravid with derision at himself and ambivalence as to what course of action his scruples might prevent him from taking next. Gently, experimentally, he loosely encompassed her slightly quaking, feeble frame with his wiry but competent arms, holding her to him in a sign of attempted mollification of the demons inside of her that were haunting the vacancy of amour. And oh, the tenderness he possessed, that as if it the slightest of even barely forceful touches might break her. Softly, facilely, as not to spook her as one could accomplish such with as much celerity as one could startle a skittish deer, his hand rubbed behind her femininely constructed shoulders in a pacifying way, nestling her against his torso to offer the solace of his in essence, wounded, heartbeat, against her, and his softly radiating warmth. "Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I did. I'm sorry for hurting you." He himself was partially trembling from his own trepidation at being in such propinquity with her. Falling for the very first time didn't offer a downey bedded landing, and it was precluded that the second time would be any softer than rock hard.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> well i know it's true. -- ginny weasley, 23:26:58 05/24/02 Fri

her original impulse is to heave away from the male and escape, scamper away in panic of being wounded yet again, but no issue how greatly her intelligence shrieks at her mass, the soothing is just too majestic to abscond because of her heart that quavers with the fright of being hurt once more�because this time, should it be robbed from this gullible adolescent, it would by no means come back to her, for horror of being uncovered to the world once again. she discovers the required reassurance in the arms of the male, and she steadily realizes that all of her anxiety is vanishing, and only an sporadic shudder now scourges her, but it�s source is undetermined. �you can�t blame yourself for everything, harry.� she commences, her voice mellifluous and still a bit quivery from the tears that she discarded, but possessing an unyielding reminder that nearly pleads him to understand this. �i�ve done everything and anything wrong�i attacked you with my words when you were in a state of shock�and if that�s not wrong of me, then i guess i just don�t know the meaning of right and wrong. i�ve just burdened you with my problems because i am weak�too weak to keep even the smallest pain to myself. i do have reason to be sorry.� she whispers, her voice a mere sigh, and it dies away as she snuggles her head into his shoulder, the shivering of her delicate structure increasingly retreating into nothing. this is the fantasy that she had been probing for, the emotion of security and the comfort of another person�s heat, glowing into her own. why she had to persist on plummeting for harry she was uncertain of, and why he was forever there whenever she needed him persisted to be unidentified. sometimes there is a hefty dissimilarity between craving something and requiring it�it seems as though tonight she just needed someone to embrace her and provide to her the emotion of affection and protection.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Salvation seems so far away -- Harry Potter, 18:03:12 05/25/02 Sat

For a moment that superceeded the meaning of the word "tense," he harbored the utmost, chopfallen and dejecting prospect that she would hoise him away with acrimonious resolve, and bend him over backwards in further discomfiture than he already endured. He needed love; soft, caring touches of concern, being held and pacified. It wasn't a question of want and it wasn't a question at all, it was a complex asset to his exsistance that couldn't be extricated, or else the consequence would be dire and deleterious from his extreme lack of stability beneath his facade of eternal pluckiness and strength for everyone else. However, when one had been emotionally shoddily assembled without prospect of being callous when they were however, paradoxically hardened from life's bitterly stinging blows of anguish, a guarded mask of untranscient, resolute backbone. He was such a precarious and savory, obstinately willed person, so zealous with the will to survive and to pave his one way road to felicity that he was in reverse on, that he frequently thought of his road of crumbled cement to only conclude in a dead end. He tried to persevere, but sometimes the uglied road just made him bitterly shiver with indignation and condemning rue about how no matter how hard he pressed on the gas to accelerate towards his sort of makeshift nirvana, he always stayed where he was or lost precious ground. The sheer feeling of endlessness that overwhelmed him in an all consuming way never ceased.

The ebony, contradictorily laying tresses of fine nature of his could be discerned to be titillatingly residing upon the dorsal side of her elegant neck. The end of his squared jaw resided restively with a feigned placid contentment against the place where her slightly slackened one began, and his hand trailed with great tenderness to her amaranthine hued tresses, cradling her sconce with gallant fervor and emitting a quiet sigh of tainted, ping ponging bliss. He fidgeted slowly with her silky textured tendrils while imbibing her intoxicating scent over her shoulder. On the brink of a nervous overload, what with being in such close proximity with the captivating, unique girl, he shivered slightly, as if in ague, and once again exhaled scabbrously, attempting to harness his self control and shackle it to the thought of her untarnished innocence that he didn't want to have the audacity to besmirch. That's not to say that he didn't have the audacity, it's to say that he wished he didn't, but at the same time, hypocritically, he was succored that it was extant, the desire. "Being vulnerable sometimes is just human, Ginny. You can't be anything more than what you are." As he gravitated his head in a celestial direction away from the less altitudious place it had been positioned upon her shoulder, he paused when it made contact with her cheek, pangs of pathos and empathy from the dampness from tears of it along with other piqued attentions that earned his undue concentration (for example, the whole close quarters scenario that had unfolded and whenever she shifted, if only slightly) kindling inside of him. He didn't yen to deal her a killing clout again by permitting some petty hormones to get in the way of her trust, and he also didn't want to be unfaithful to a person that was quite apparently, never coming back, and yet... how he pined to intimately endure a period of osculation with the intriguing girl. He listened to the seagulls serenading though strident farewell to the day, torn with his cheek still resting against her's and waiting; waiting for whatever course of action was to transpire.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> especially when nothing seems to be changing.. -- ginny weasley, 23:45:52 05/25/02 Sat

her body underhandedly shakes as she suffers through his every stroke, intentional or not, and she shutters her eyes with covering, disregarding the bound of her heart as he relaxes his cheek upon hers, purely relishing the moment and for one time not perturbing herself about how much ache she will practice when no longer in his presence. a mellifluous sigh evades from her lips that are nearly too close to his desired ones, and she gradually releases her eyes from captivity, suddenly intensely withdrawing how it felt to have his lips linked to hers�but that was previous to the occasion that Hermione was in the image, and now that she was, ginny would almost certainly never kiss harry again, and if she did, she couldn�t avoid the question if she would for eternity be measured as second finest. dammit ginny, you�re just going to get yourself hurt. stop it. how painless life would be if she could just heave away from him and flee from all of the recurring emotions, varied in so many techniques to generate so many diverse consequences, yet she couldn�t. it was too reassuring and he meant much too much to her for her to even gamble to damage him again with her language and/or behavior. she gnaws on the internal of her lip and leisurely twirls vocabulary into a proclamation. �everything changes, harry, whether or not we want it to change.� the statement is nearly mournful, and as enticed as she is to inquire him if he has perceived that she has not been altering as well, she refuses the inclination and in its place she descends into a relaxed hush.

she budges a bit in his clutch but doesn�t endeavor to getaway from his soothing grasp, shifting so she can transfer her own arms wrapping around his shape to embrace him as well. the persuasion is just so much, too much for one child to swallow. how could she contradict it when he was so near and didn�t appear persuaded to discontinue her action, and if they were prepared to disregard the human race to this degree, why not go just crawl an inch beyond into absentmindedness, even if they finished utilizing each other to just fail to remember and ginny concluded feeling hurt again�she was used to the never ending aching, why not boot it up a score, just so distinguish if she can tolerate? but alas, she is much too timorous and much too much like Virginia Weasley, the shy, unsociable and troubled�thing, for something this disordered could not possibly be a human being, but conceivably an experimentation, an examination finished on the incorrect base. a moderate moan flees from her undesirable, and she detaches her cheek from his so she can conceal her face into his shoulder, unearthing superior reassurance in this present situation then in the other, when harry can no longer look upon her appearance that she now labors to drive underneath a facade of an imitation placidity.

(lol...it's late...excuse any momentary strangeness. *has changed the post like, fifty million times* i'm not exaggerating either!!)

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> And here's the inevitable crescendo... -- � Hermione Granger �, 02:37:22 05/27/02 Mon

The liquid saline that met with lips scalded her tongue like acid.

Maybe in truth she had waited too long to recover from the maiming experience of losing the enamoured. Maybe she never should have loved so deeply in the first place?

But whatever the answer, it did not seek her thoughts. Seeking out Harry to provide explanation for her recent hermit behaviour, directed by whispers of gossip provided by nearby scholars of Skiztoln...She never expected to find this, in a million years.

The image of the entwined scalded into the russet of iris and the opaque cornea, through the trees nearby the grained glass they stood upon did she make her presence known. A crushed but perhaps knowing quirk (partially disturbing in it's nature) to cherry contoured lips displayed ironically.

"Did you have to wait too long for me? Is that it?"

More saline threatened to scald lips, cheeks, entire facade into oblivion, but the same disturbed quirk threatened to crack the porcelain mask of her features.

"I'm sorry if I was a burden at any time. I won't stand in the way of your happiness."

A perhaps too quick oscillation of lithe figure, a flurry of onyx, and the struck creature was away at the speed of light, silent.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> And the sattire that follows of human farce and folly... -- Harry Potter, 16:58:27 05/27/02 Mon

The jade toned eyes scanned the star strewn, now sable firmaments, the ringing of the elapsed tacit in his ears that was numbing his logic causing him to not be able to find a constellation because their were so many spheres of diamond like sheen in the raven pitch that was the galaxy. Crickets and other nighttime creatures had begun encroaching, engaging in their sprightly symphony that ensued after the sun sank in surrender to the moon. As she stirred against his masculinely solid bulk, his nerves were still amuck, his need to be consoled shouting mutiny to his conscience which screeched its protest from being overwhelmed... all inside of his cluttered, broken mind. He continued gently cradling her against him, again offering and receiveing the very human concept of warmth that entered physically but seemed to caress one's pysche. He seemed to have strangely tranquilized his requirement for pacification, as he now had calmed down after he had achieved some sort of mental peace... a peace that was the mere disquiet wait for something to spark his frankly unstable, irrational mindset. It may have varnishly appeared by garbed semblance that he had recovered from the traumatic, cataclysmic events he had brought upon himself, fitting the euphorism that one usually gave another the means for their own destruction. However, he hadn't healed, really, and no wound ever closed without a scar, and his wounds were secretly open. Still fidgeting unconsciously with her vermilion, fouland like hair, he parsed her hackneyed but forsooth, true, words. "Death has us in its hands to eat us, but right now, it's full. Everything we do to avoid is a procrastination. Nothing lasts forever. Just a lifetime." Perhaps a more deranged, indignantly said set of quips from his unsteady, irascible brain, but fundamentally, it was true. "But. Until my bitter end," and the prospect for that being long wasn't too promising, "I'll be here when you need me. Sounds... cliched... but... I don't know how else to say it," he admitted, shrugging against the pulingly placid her as he emitted a short sigh of utter exhaustion but also temporary contentment. The condition was temporary because it was precluded that he could reside in someone's reassuring embrace for the rest of his days.

And then... it wasn't, couldn't be, over her infirm shoulder. A mirage. Yes, that was it. It was a mirage. Until it spoke, then he was fairly confident that, no, it was in fact, not a mirage. The mirage was unspeakably cherished to him; the image it cast the image of the one he cabalistically relied on to be his other half until he was of sound mind and out of his pathetically weak dependence upon her. Breath stealingly captivating for him, the mirage was, and how it struck the greatest deal of pain into him of how it seemed to partially comprehend but not fully the scenario that it had uncovered as it spoke. He gasped noticably, perhaps from how suddenly excruciating it was to breathe, jaw unhinged from the grim limn it had been repressively smothered into. "She's not dead," was the last thing that he lackadasically and faintly said before a comatose state engulfed him fully and he became utmostly flaccid and limp, any tension his body had completely slackened as his full weight leaned against the feeble girl's frontal side as he passed out from proverbial shock. His fealty may have gone awry slightly because of the injustice of him being deprived of something that he absolutely craved in any way, shape, or form: comfort. Like all the rest of his copiously replete mistakes, it would forsake him into the maw of abject misery, wistfully, chimerically wishing away that he could expiate the angst induced hurt he dealth out to people... videlict someone he genuinely loved as much as Hermione. She was one of the very few people that he could not bear to burden the cumbersome depiction of tears cascading down her comely face... all because of him.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> ...and finally the silence that is louder then the noise... -- ginny weasley, 20:18:38 05/27/02 Mon

�and ginny faces the absolute reassurance of being with him, just being near him and not anything in addition, nothing extra. the remainder of what ensued, happened devoid of her. the initial instant she was tranquil and passive, and the next she discovered herself clutching a wilted boy, the language of the wounded humming through her ears. her head twirls nauseatingly as she dreadfully endeavors to catch up with time and discover what went mistaken, what she performed to obtain this horrifying anguish within her, and yet she recognizes, she knows that in order for harry to endure, she has to someway place the whole thing back in position, even if it was inescapable that she had to abandon all and whichever possibility that she could have boasted with harry. one way or another prevent the fluid from overloading the cup because of the ice cub that streaked indoors without forewarning. with all of this coursing through her cranium, ginny bounds to her feet and lopes after the escapee, disregarding the screeching within her that advises her that she doesn�t need to nuisance herself with healing the bond, that she could perchance have harry to herself. she recognizes now, further then ever before, that it would not happen, by no means would arise, and wasn�t destined to begin in the first place. the consideration freezes her and she determinedly persists, howling out hermione�s name urgently. she no longer cares how pitiable she appears, and the distortion of her foot as she staggers on an invisible article lingers unobserved, overlooked. �we didn�t do anything! he was comforting me because he�s the only one who seems to care! i could never love him like you do, hermione. i only want him as a friend�and as his friend i cannot stand to see him suffer, and as your friend i cannot stand to see you suffer. just don�t act hastily�the world is made up of�deception�don�t be part of that mirage.� her voice explodes and she moans, declining into hush and to the sand ground, not troubling to glance up to see if the girl perceived the noise of her voice or if her utterance went unnoticed or not even heard.

while probing her foot in inactive inquisitiveness, suffering through the feeling of being emotionally anesthetized, she can�t evade but reflect to herself terms of abandon. i have worked so hard and gone through so much to find a sense of peace, and the moment i do, i look up only to find myself where i started�back on the cold bottom, but this time i�m not going to try to climb up again. i�ve given up on the remains of humanity�nothing matters anymore. nothing at all.

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