Where, does one, begin a healing? Is it, with love? With hope? Do you heal, with bandages, or quiet words?
Or, do you heal, with a single touch?
It's Alan. It's been, exact;y a year, since my last post, by some, coincidence. And, I'm awake.
And thinking, how, do I complete a task, I never had, the faith, to start?
She, was always beautiful, always kind of me, more than kind. She heard, all the things, I could never, bring myself to voice, more than that once. She trusted. She listened.
And, as Noel Gallagher says, "My eyes have always followed you around the room 'cause you're the only god that I will ever need; I'm holding on and waiting for the moment to find me."
The moment, found me. I'd always, wanted, to heal her, at nearly any price. And, somehow, God decided, that I deserved, that chance.
But I'm afriad. I know, that I can heal her, if I have the chance. But the time, given to me, is so short. I'm afraid, that once, won't be enough, to heal her. I'm afraid, that whether, I suceed, or fail, the healing, will bury me, too deep, in her soul.
I want to save her. Hermione, would say, I have a 'bit of a saving-people-thing'. I would say, that it's part, of being a man, but I have met, some very cowardly men.
Do I want to save her too much? I can't decide, if I'm inot this, too much. Yes, I want, to heal her. But is it also, that I want, to be saved? Is it, the healing, itself, that provokes me?
I am only, a man. I can offer her, nothing more, than myself. I can only attempt, to heal her, and, then break, away. I can only give her, myself.
And, in the end, am I, enough? Can I heal, what hands, more than mine, have done? And, can I then, let her go? Am I in, too deep?
I can, make her smile, smile ine ways, I never thought, I could. She was there, in the darkness, and now, that I am, more or less, in the light, I want, to bring that light, back, to her.
But, it slips, from my hands. I am clumsy, and confused. She, is beauty, and I cannot help, but offer, to restore it, but when, I do so, I fear, that, I will give her, only strength.
Strength, will endure. Strength, will hold her, through the night. Strength, will stand, for her, in the cold, and close, her hands, into fists. But strength, knows not, distance, and light. Strength, will not, restore her. Strength, will hold her, through, and keep her bones, from breaking, but strength, will not give her, the creativity, the bliss, the joy, the grace, that she exhibits. Strength, has only roots. Strength, grows no leaves.
Strength, is weary, even as I, am weary. I can give her, strength, but when, she leaves, my arms, will she still glow, the way, she did, when she looked, in my eyes?
I have, a duty. And, so, I will, follow it. I can give her, only, what I have, and that, is my strength. I offer that, and, pray only, that when, I have given her, all my strength, poured, into her, all, I have, to give, she will, be whole.
My only, true fear, now, is that, when, she is healed, I will find, that I still, want to touch, her face.
I love you.
-- Alan.
Or, do you heal, with a single touch?
It's Alan. It's been, exact;y a year, since my last post, by some, coincidence. And, I'm awake.
And thinking, how, do I complete a task, I never had, the faith, to start?
She, was always beautiful, always kind of me, more than kind. She heard, all the things, I could never, bring myself to voice, more than that once. She trusted. She listened.
And, as Noel Gallagher says, "My eyes have always followed you around the room 'cause you're the only god that I will ever need; I'm holding on and waiting for the moment to find me."
The moment, found me. I'd always, wanted, to heal her, at nearly any price. And, somehow, God decided, that I deserved, that chance.
But I'm afriad. I know, that I can heal her, if I have the chance. But the time, given to me, is so short. I'm afraid, that once, won't be enough, to heal her. I'm afraid, that whether, I suceed, or fail, the healing, will bury me, too deep, in her soul.
I want to save her. Hermione, would say, I have a 'bit of a saving-people-thing'. I would say, that it's part, of being a man, but I have met, some very cowardly men.
Do I want to save her too much? I can't decide, if I'm inot this, too much. Yes, I want, to heal her. But is it also, that I want, to be saved? Is it, the healing, itself, that provokes me?
I am only, a man. I can offer her, nothing more, than myself. I can only attempt, to heal her, and, then break, away. I can only give her, myself.
And, in the end, am I, enough? Can I heal, what hands, more than mine, have done? And, can I then, let her go? Am I in, too deep?
I can, make her smile, smile ine ways, I never thought, I could. She was there, in the darkness, and now, that I am, more or less, in the light, I want, to bring that light, back, to her.
But, it slips, from my hands. I am clumsy, and confused. She, is beauty, and I cannot help, but offer, to restore it, but when, I do so, I fear, that, I will give her, only strength.
Strength, will endure. Strength, will hold her, through the night. Strength, will stand, for her, in the cold, and close, her hands, into fists. But strength, knows not, distance, and light. Strength, will not, restore her. Strength, will hold her, through, and keep her bones, from breaking, but strength, will not give her, the creativity, the bliss, the joy, the grace, that she exhibits. Strength, has only roots. Strength, grows no leaves.
Strength, is weary, even as I, am weary. I can give her, strength, but when, she leaves, my arms, will she still glow, the way, she did, when she looked, in my eyes?
I have, a duty. And, so, I will, follow it. I can give her, only, what I have, and that, is my strength. I offer that, and, pray only, that when, I have given her, all my strength, poured, into her, all, I have, to give, she will, be whole.
My only, true fear, now, is that, when, she is healed, I will find, that I still, want to touch, her face.
I love you.
-- Alan.
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