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Nov. 6th, 2005 06:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliTitle: Suffocation
Author: blurblely
Rating: G
Pairing: OB/VM
Feedback: always appreciated
Warnings: Angst, made up words
Disclaimer: All of it's untrue.
Beta: none, therefore the aforementioned made up words
Summary: breaking up
Author's note: I was bored, so I wrote my own. Remarkability is not a real word, according to dictionary.com. But I say it is, therefore I use it. It just sounded better than "remarkable qualities" or "noteworthiness."
And now Viggo’s certain that everything he’s known before was a lie. He’s certain because love doesn’t last and beauty is gone and he can’t be sure it was ever even there. If it was, Orlando must’ve packed it in with his toothbrush when he left. But Viggo still feels traces of it, feels like he should remember, like an elusive sense of something intensely important forgotten, skating out on the fringes of his memory. If the wispy residue of beauty can exist there on the outskirts of his mind, surely it was real and tangible at one time? He wonders where vision comes from, thinks it can’t just be the difference between light and shadow, all left up to the perception of the viewer because some things have to be universal, haven’t they? It can’t just be in one person, the skipping hearts and brains on trampolines, while others feel nothing, no response at all.
He wonders, not for the first time, why he can’t hold onto something and have it be the same tomorrow as it was yesterday.
And Viggo’s sure, so sure, that even photographs can change if you leave them alone long enough. They lose their remarkability, their shine, their desire to be wanted until they’re just items lining a shelf, not images of a once-cherished beloved. He’s been told that this is insanity, that inanimate objects can’t change, but he knows that much is wrong. They can change more easily than a person ever could. He thinks that maybe that’s why Orlando left him in the first place.
And Viggo knows, knows that living so hard and desperately that he wakes up every morning with tears in his eyes and ghosts upon his lips won’t change anything, won’t punish him enough to restore balance, won’t bring him back but it’s his way. He’s never known the in-between, never been able to master it. He’s always been the kind to love so hard that whatever he’s focused his affections on becomes worn, never content to let his love just sit on a shelf for daily viewing and repose, only taking it down for special occasions. He has to love full force because he can’t do anything else. That’s why at his home, the scratched-up walls and holey bedsheets aren’t signs of disorder but of worship. But that’s what Orlando couldn’t see. He mistook Viggo’s intensity for him as a need to consume and destroy, thought Viggo was trying to wear him thin until nothing of him remained. And so he left before Viggo could, before Viggo could crush him.
Author: blurblely
Rating: G
Pairing: OB/VM
Feedback: always appreciated
Warnings: Angst, made up words
Disclaimer: All of it's untrue.
Beta: none, therefore the aforementioned made up words
Summary: breaking up
Author's note: I was bored, so I wrote my own. Remarkability is not a real word, according to dictionary.com. But I say it is, therefore I use it. It just sounded better than "remarkable qualities" or "noteworthiness."
And now Viggo’s certain that everything he’s known before was a lie. He’s certain because love doesn’t last and beauty is gone and he can’t be sure it was ever even there. If it was, Orlando must’ve packed it in with his toothbrush when he left. But Viggo still feels traces of it, feels like he should remember, like an elusive sense of something intensely important forgotten, skating out on the fringes of his memory. If the wispy residue of beauty can exist there on the outskirts of his mind, surely it was real and tangible at one time? He wonders where vision comes from, thinks it can’t just be the difference between light and shadow, all left up to the perception of the viewer because some things have to be universal, haven’t they? It can’t just be in one person, the skipping hearts and brains on trampolines, while others feel nothing, no response at all.
He wonders, not for the first time, why he can’t hold onto something and have it be the same tomorrow as it was yesterday.
And Viggo’s sure, so sure, that even photographs can change if you leave them alone long enough. They lose their remarkability, their shine, their desire to be wanted until they’re just items lining a shelf, not images of a once-cherished beloved. He’s been told that this is insanity, that inanimate objects can’t change, but he knows that much is wrong. They can change more easily than a person ever could. He thinks that maybe that’s why Orlando left him in the first place.
And Viggo knows, knows that living so hard and desperately that he wakes up every morning with tears in his eyes and ghosts upon his lips won’t change anything, won’t punish him enough to restore balance, won’t bring him back but it’s his way. He’s never known the in-between, never been able to master it. He’s always been the kind to love so hard that whatever he’s focused his affections on becomes worn, never content to let his love just sit on a shelf for daily viewing and repose, only taking it down for special occasions. He has to love full force because he can’t do anything else. That’s why at his home, the scratched-up walls and holey bedsheets aren’t signs of disorder but of worship. But that’s what Orlando couldn’t see. He mistook Viggo’s intensity for him as a need to consume and destroy, thought Viggo was trying to wear him thin until nothing of him remained. And so he left before Viggo could, before Viggo could crush him.
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Date: 2005-11-07 02:42 am (UTC)