I have loved you for a thousand years (barret)

[Barret]

I love you. Don't you mind, don't you mind? It would be a lie to say that he had never thought it. He thought it. He thinks it. He hopes, and he prays, and he lives, and he dreams for it. So many parts of him never want to see her again. So many parts of him scream out her name in agony; he once thought that they were magnets, and maybe they are, but with polarities reversed, with polarities that expel – the kind of magnets you can push, and push, and push, but never move together. He has thought it, too. He has thought it while he’s looked into her eyes with a stupid, flinching smile on his lips and hated everything he found inside of them, even as he had willed his slamming heart to leave his ribs intact. He has wanted her dead, and thought it then. He has thought it while he’s looked inside of her, through her glass flesh and past her veins, when he saw that there, written in her bones was all of the misery that loving her could pave for him. It didn’t change a thing, though. He still needs her more than he needs air. He still thinks about her hard, dark eyes, and loves them more than he loves anything. There are parts of him that never want to see her again, but the parts that love her still are louder. The parts that love her bring him here. They coax him to the pond to watch a stranger who looks like there are things he’d like to un-see, too. “I don’t recommend that,” he says, stopping to lean his weight against the withered bark of an old tree. barret ---