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Still Me
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,075
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,075
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
She never stops moving. She dances, she swings, she rocks, she murmurs and twitches and sings. She is in my blood, my soul, my heart. She knows what I will ask of her almost before I ask it. She was already a fine lady when she became mine, and I gave her respect from the moment I met her, even before I felt that she loved me. She loves me still, but I can feel her fading.
The thought of going on without her is like a black chill in my mind. If I think about it, the demons I barely keep in check will arise and overwhelm me. She has taken me through glory and anguish, through fear and joy, into hell and through it safely. We have been so far together that she has become the only one I can tell anything to. I know that although she hears everything, she will never give up the deep, dark secrets I have told her.
I have become so attuned to her that a mere whisper from her can wake me from anything. It took me some time to get used to hearing what she told me, and to be able to ask things of her. When she became mine, I knew her, but she still had things to teach me, and I looked forward to learning them for the rest of our lives.
When I lost her, the thought of life without her nearly drove me mad. I think she knew I would come back for her. When I saw what she had become, I knew she needed me as much as I needed her. Without me, she was miserable, and without her, I was lost. I wanted to get her back, to take her and disappear over the horizon into glory and freedom again.
I saw her wounded, and her pain was like a knife in me. All I could do was shout at the idiots who had hurt her, who were too busy hurting her to listen. I almost died for her; I think she forgave me her own wounds for that. I have not yet forgiven myself; I think the wounds she took have brought her to old age before her time.
She is dying. I know this, deep in my soul, but I cannot think of it yet. I can feel her try to leap and dance as she did when we were younger, but it takes her more effort now than it ever has. One day soon she will be unable to do what I ask ask of her, and it will break her heart.
Without her, I will be lost again, no no longer myself. While I am still me, I will not leave her. I would pray, if I had anything to pray to, that her end will be quick, so that mine will be as well. I will never leave her again.
The thought of going on without her is like a black chill in my mind. If I think about it, the demons I barely keep in check will arise and overwhelm me. She has taken me through glory and anguish, through fear and joy, into hell and through it safely. We have been so far together that she has become the only one I can tell anything to. I know that although she hears everything, she will never give up the deep, dark secrets I have told her.
I have become so attuned to her that a mere whisper from her can wake me from anything. It took me some time to get used to hearing what she told me, and to be able to ask things of her. When she became mine, I knew her, but she still had things to teach me, and I looked forward to learning them for the rest of our lives.
When I lost her, the thought of life without her nearly drove me mad. I think she knew I would come back for her. When I saw what she had become, I knew she needed me as much as I needed her. Without me, she was miserable, and without her, I was lost. I wanted to get her back, to take her and disappear over the horizon into glory and freedom again.
I saw her wounded, and her pain was like a knife in me. All I could do was shout at the idiots who had hurt her, who were too busy hurting her to listen. I almost died for her; I think she forgave me her own wounds for that. I have not yet forgiven myself; I think the wounds she took have brought her to old age before her time.
She is dying. I know this, deep in my soul, but I cannot think of it yet. I can feel her try to leap and dance as she did when we were younger, but it takes her more effort now than it ever has. One day soon she will be unable to do what I ask ask of her, and it will break her heart.
Without her, I will be lost again, no no longer myself. While I am still me, I will not leave her. I would pray, if I had anything to pray to, that her end will be quick, so that mine will be as well. I will never leave her again.