Name (required):

  Expression ^{(Optional mood/title along with your name) Examples: (happy, sad, The Joyful, etc.) help)}

  E-mail address (optional):

* Type your message here:
>Boys Donıt Cry > > A stillness befalls the room. Now that the >television is off, the dead leaves on the ground his >only company, he realizes that someone is walking >outside. It is the someone it always is, her petite >frame sheltering the unrecognizable strength--and >anger--she bears. He thinks maybe he should open the >door just as she lays her hand on it; you know, >surprise her. But he does not do that. He remains on >the couch, in his omnipresent black drapery. > The door shifts open, metal scrapes lightly on stone, >and she enters. He does not even turn to look at her. > Her face is a rose, the beauty of one, the body of >one, sweet yet thorny, tough yet vulnerable. It >occurs to him that it should not matter if he looks at >her. Her face is there no matter what, so he decides >to view it in its corporeal form. > ³Spike...² she surprisingly speaks first. Maybe not >all that surprising, but she used to wait till he said >hello, or some sort of greeting, no matter how terse. >No, he was wrong. He looks, and now the rose pricks >his eyes. Boys donıt cry, he reminds himself. Boys >donıt cry. > Itıs a stupid thing heıs had to tell himself >recently, since he let feelings, let her, into his >body again. The last time she showed up here, the >³real² last time, where she said this relationship, >term used loosely, was killing her, has barely been >remembered because it has not yet been forgotten. It >has only been a week, maybe two. Spike never has >taken much stock in time, not since it was less to him >than dirt. Suddenly, the words pour out like a >fountain or a rill of blood, the latter being >something he is more familiar with. > ³I would say I'm sorry, if I thought that it would >change your mind. >But I know that this time I've said too much, been too >unkind. I try to laugh about it, cover it all up with >lies. I... I try to laugh about it...² he wonders >why heıs saying this, why heıs hiding the tears in his >eyes. Itıs not as though she, or many other people, >hasnıt seem them before. He begins his >rationalization in his own mind again: Cause boys >don't cry. Boys don't cry. > ³Look, Spike, you donıt need to do any of that stuff. > You donıt even need to think about me. I did the >same for you.² > ³I would break down at your feet and beg forgiveness, >plead with you, but I know that it's too late, and now >there's nothing I can do. So I try to laugh about it, >cover it all up with lies. I try to laugh about >it...² Boys don`t cry. > ³Spike, I know. And now I know twice, Œcause youıre >repeating yourself.² > No break from his response, ³I would tell you that I >loved you if I thought that you would stay, but I know >that it's no use, that you've already gone away. Iıve >misjudged your limits, pushed you too far, took you >for granted. I thought that you needed me more.² > ³I... I donıt want to hear this anymore. I donıt >want to say what Iıve said to you already. You have >to know that what you are saying is... is...² >Unfinishable sentence. > ³Now I would do most anything to get you back by my >side, but I just >keep on laughing, hiding the tears in my eyes.² Cause >boys don't cry. Boy don't cry. > ³Goodbye, Spike. I came here to try to explain to >you, one more time, that itıs over. That there wasnıt >even anything between us. That we need to stop >whatever this is. And now I know I was right about >this only being one more time, when I thought that it >was going to be the last time.² > She leaves swiftly through the still open door, and >all Spike can do is watch. He canıt stop her with >this molten liquid running down his cheeks, burning >his face. He needs to tell himself again. Boys donıt >cry. > > >(Boys Don't Cry by The Cure)

Notice: Copies of your message may remain on this and other systems on internet. Please be respectful.