.

Reality had suddenly became way too real for me. I stared up at the lights as they flashed with excitement. My heart pounded but not with love. It was too much to take in at once, the honk of the cars, the flashing of the lights. The loud confusion of shouting voices. Massive buildings reached up to the sky and beyond, never endingly towering. I scared me to see these sights. Everything was so big, too big. It was a place of fun, a place of terrifying vastness. This was the place of fame and wonder I had been told about. Although it was really a place of greed, lust, desire and determination. Every sin I could ever think of had been crammed into this city with such an immense urgency. Too many things were happening at once and my mind couldn't grasp this strange new world. This was uncivilised mania, how could so many people crowd into these small roads. The buildings were large, but the city had more than enough people to cram into them. As I entered the hotel my eyes widened as the hysteria continued. My breaths started to quicken as I saw how many people there were, too many voices.... Why couldn't they be calm? A lot of people were laughing, joking about, but this scared me. There was too many things going on around me and my mind was too confused to take it all in. Why couldn't they be serious? Serious and quiet.... But that brought me back to why I was here. Conor, I needed to see him again. Even if it wasn't in our calm country fields we both loved so much. I'd come to this terrifying, jam packed city for him. I couldn't bear to be another day without him, one week had been my limit. I walked up to a woman in the hotel, "Hi," I smiled "I'm Esme Fieldan, can I have the key to my room please?" The woman smiled her bright false smile right back at me and typed my name into her computer. I sighed, wishing that the hotel were quiet enough to hear the relaxing sound of her fingers tapping the keyboard as Conor did nearly every evening... god I missed him. "Oh," she said, scrunching up her face with confusion "You've not booked a room?" she asked, I told her that my friend had. The word boyfriend seemed to make Conor seem so much less significant than he was. "Well, your names not on the system" It was my turn to be confused. "What's your friends name?"
"Conor Isaac" I told her. She smiled as she stared at the computer screen.
"Your friend wouldn't of booked you in as Esme Isaac would he?" She asked, a hint of amusement graced her voice. I chuckled to myself, he had really mean it.
"He probably would of" I said, laughing at his little joke. She grinned at me, her smile now genuine.
"Well here's your key madam, I hope you have a nice stay. Will your boyfr-.. i mean friend be meeting you tonight?"
"Not tonight, thank you" I told her, picking up my suitcase and walking to the elevator. As I stepped in, a man and a woman swiftly stepped in behind me. The man wore sunglasses, even though it was night time and the middle of winter. The woman wore a slinky silk dress and high stilettos.
"Hello?" The man said, answering his state of the art mobile, the woman looked around nervously, eyeing me up as if I was a threat. "Yes yes darling, I'm there right now.... This new TV show love sorry I have to do it. No no... I told her you were my wife. Darling just trust me, I love you more than anything... yes.... okay. Bye love, love you." he hung up his phone sighing then going over to kiss the woman he was with. They began murmuring to each other, looking at me suspiciously.
"Excuse me?" He asked, obviously aggravated. "I know I know, I'm John Gator." he said, as if it was not questionable whether or not I knew his name. "But if you tell anyone about this, especially if you tell the press...! I'll sue you for every penny you've got." he threatened. I just nodded absent mindedly. I had know idea who this complete arsehole was and now had no intention of ever finding out. He stormed out of the elevator pulling the woman out with him as they reached their floor. The doors closed and I sighed. He was obviously some big movie star that I was supposed to know and worship. I flinched at the thought of his poor wife sitting at home, trying to trust him while she waited for him to come home from one of his many trips away. His mistress was probably just in it for the gifts, the fame if someone found out. But who knew, maybe she'd actually fell in love with this man. If that was the case, I pitied her, for he obviously didn't care about her at all. The elevator beeped, why was everything so loud here? I stepped out and walked down the hall to my room. Finally I opened the door to my room, closed it behind me and jumped onto the bed. Silence, I never had appreciated it properly until now. I jammed two pillows either side of my head and tried to block out the faint traffic that was still audible. I tried to think of a happier place and chuckled myself at the first memory that arrived in my head. Esme Isaac.
"Marriage" I said to him, staring at him questioningly.
"Not a fan of the legal side" he replied, what a surprise.
"Why..?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Because what's the point?" He said taking my hands, not really asking a question. "We've got all the love we need, why do we need to prove it to anyone? I don't need a piece of paper to tell me I love you Esme."
"Fair point" I said smiling, he kissed me cunningly
"I rather like the idea of the names though" he said, distracting me with the amazing concept of Conor liking something. He looked at my face, scrunched up with confusion.
"What?"
"Esme Isaac," he said hugging me tighter, "seems quite a pretty name doesn't it?" he commented, I could swear he was glowing a little bit.
"Esme Isaac" I repeated with a smile on my face, I tapped his nose "Not bad Mr Isaac". He groaned,
"I'm way too young for that" he said.
"I don't think so, Conor and Esme Isaac"
"It does have a ring to it doesn't it?" he sighed, a hint of a smile growing on his face.
"I like it"
"I love it"

Was it too soon to start reminiscing about our past? It wasn't really the past to be honest, more like three weeks ago but it felt like years. He had said he was staying in New Island for two weeks to see his aunt and I had missed him so much I'd come to this hell hole for the second. His aunt may have been ill, and it was selfish to think like this, but couldn't a phone call be enough? No no, I can't think like that, she was in hospital. But the doctors had said she would most definitely live! NO. It was his aunt, closer to him than his mother. I was so selfish, but I needed him so badly. Just one more night, and in the morning I'll see him. I smiled, wasn't that a beautiful thought?

Good morning, someone said as soon as I opened my eyes. There was Conor, holding a tray with a croissant and some hot chocolate on it (I had never had patience for coffee). He smiled a heart blinding smile, and it was 100% genuine. My heart ripped and mended it self a hundred times as I acknowledged the heart warming glow surrounding him. I'd missed him way too much.

Conor.

I love her incomplete perfection. The way most of the pieces seem to be wrong but overall, they are amazingly perfect. The subtle wave of her light brown hair is extraordinarily attractive and defining. It reached the length of her slender elbows and was forever being fiddled with, especially when she was worried about something. Her skin was neither black nor white, but the result of both. It reminded me of toffee, and from the day I first saw her I forever made that association with her. I twas so beautiful in it's soft and suppleness. smooth but delicately defined, like a statue or wood rather than marble. Her ever present joy was presented on her face with a subtle glow that just seemed to enhance and enforce how amazing she truly was. Her forehead could be seen as a little too big if you concentrated on it, but mixed with the overall beauty of her face, it seemed flawless. One of the things I loved most about Esme was when she was concentrating on something, her forehead crinkled ever so slightly. It was the only thing that assured me she was human... and not an angel. Her eyebrows were perfectly formed, a mystery since I had never seen her tampering with them once. Her eyelids were so delicate as she fluttered her long, extremely thick eyelashes at me. Usually they were enhanced with mascara but even without this, I bet everything I have that they would be just as long, just as thick and just as beautiful. And is it possible to leave out Esme's eyes? Heaven itself could not be as beautifully entrancing. I have been told many a time that my eyes were the most beautiful anyone had ever seen, but they obviously had never seen Esme's properly. My eyes were cold, strange and weirdly bright... Esme's were the complete opposite. They were an extremely soft shade of green, the edges blurring into a weak brown around it. They were hypnotisingly beautiful and nearly impossible to look away from. I could go on to describe her perfectly formed nose to her full soft lips, but why would I? It would be a waste of thought trying to describe the perfection of Esme, when she was just beyond words.

Esme.

(note to reader: I don't really get this one eitherr? I'm just trying to work out her perspective on everything, it isn't necessarily right. (: (Y) )

I like to watch him at night... He doesn't do much. He just stares, at the darkness in front of him. Again he is serious, which I cannot stand. It makes me want to get up and hug him you know?. I love that seriousness too, because that's just one of the things that makes Conor Conor...

In the day, he just stares at me in front of him. It's flattering in a way, but I've never thought of it like that. You see, when he looks at me, I can't help but notice the perfection of him. His electrifying blue eyes, that don't so much give a sense of comfort and kindness, but of danger and caution. But I love that, because that's just Conor. His face is cream and goes a shocking red in his cheeks when I compliment him. His hair is a light, muddy brown that is nothing special, but amourable in a schoolboy sort of way. Conor's body... is too amazing to even think about, but I never noticed it until other people had mentioned it to me. The rock hard solidness of his stomach was a result of combat, training for the war. The muscles in his thighs and calf's were a result of running back and forth through courses, making sure he was fit enough to fight for hours on end. This was not a pleasant thought. The ruddiness of his appearance was loveable, though not innocent. He'd seen too much for me to bear and I'd only wanted to hear it once. That was enough. You could see nothing in Conors eyes, and no one searched. They were so hypnotisingly striking that no one had pondered the lack of emotion in them. They were in no way distant or unfriendly, but icy cold, solid and certain. They were just eyes, you couldn't figure out anything about Conor by his eyes...

So I like to watch him at night the best, when he doesn't know I'm watching. I peek at him from under my lashes and he never notices. Sometimes he goes and sits and stares at the darkness. I can walk up right behind him and he doesn't notice. Or maybe he doesn't want to notice, that's when I like him best. When he's thinking so deeply, a crator could fall in front of him and he wouldn't even blink. His expression is black in this deep thinking, but this is the Conor I love, for this is the Conor I know. I like how I am not special to him. He says he loves me, but I do not know if he just loves the idea of me. Still, I'll always stand behind him, strong and powerful. Because I know who I am, and he thinks he knows who he is. He doesn't realise that no one knows him as well as I, even though I don't know his thoughts. I know what he needs and that's the most important. Don't misunderstand me, I have no idea in the slightest what he wants (he is very secretive in that way). He needs consistency. Conor needs somebody who will listen when he wants, and will say whats on their mind, but not in any form of advice. He needs someone who can accept the wrongs he's done without saying that there is a problem. He needs someone to stand by him and watch him crash and fall... So then he can learn to pick up his own pieces, with a little help from someone...with a little help from me. I like him. I like how he smiles if I make him, I hate he he's serious. But in a way I love that about him. I like to know he's suffered and knows that life isn't perfect. I like how he thinks I'm so vulnerable and innocent. I like how he wants to know what it's like to die, and I like how I'm helping him feel that. I love how he's with me and loves me, but it's not perfect. Conor needs me to love him. I am his everything, but he feels like he needs to know what it feels like to lose everything, to die inside. Every reckless step I take, brings him closer to losing everything, to dying. I hate how he lets me be reckless sometimes, so he gets just a taste of knowing what it's like to lose everything. But I love how it isn't long before he is willing to die trying to save me. I hate how much pressure there is to help Conor, when I just want to love him.



I hate how there is so much pressure from my mind to lose her, when I need her, when i want her, when I love her.

.Conor

She touched my face and stared at it with wonder. I touched her face as her eyes followed my hand and she let out a sigh. We were discovering one another, forgetting that there might not be much time left as hours, days, weeks, months would pass. All we could do was stare.... in hope.

. Esme

He flinched. Conor flinching was such a subtle but painful movement. His face lent back a bit, while his eyebrows furrowed together. His forehead creased ever so slightly, and his lips parted with soundless cries of memories. His arms clench up, flexing immensely as his knees rapidly bent and his whole body shuddered. I had seen him flinch so many time, but every time it got more and more impossible to watch, to bear. He then smiled, trying to reassure me that he was fine. But he had no idea how closely I analysed his every move. His smile was ridden with hurt. It pained him to smile, but he thought I loved it. He thought that every time he bared his teeth, my heart jumped up with hope. I wish I could tell him it had the complete opposite effect, but I couldn't. For Conor to smile, it took all of his effort, it brought back excruciating memories that I knew for a fact he wished he could forget. Conor only smiled for me, to make me happy no matter how much pain he was in and i couldn't take that away from him. Don't get me wrong, I love smiles and I love to smile, but Conors smile. Conor smile. When Conor smiled, his lips lightly parted so his teeth could be visible. his cheek muscles took all of their effort to pull his lips to either side for more teeth to be shown. His eyes stayed ice cold, even more glazed over than usual, and his body stayed stiff as a board, waiting for my reaction. His eyelashes fluttered a bit, as they always did when he was nervous. I was always glad to see this, because his delicate fluttering eyelashes were the only thing I recognised in this foreign face of his. As his mind ripped apart and his heart willed him on, to continue for my benefit. My heart ripped apart and my mind willed me on, to accept this tortured smile for his benefit. It was too late to tell him now, and in my heart I hoped that he could learn to smile out of free will. To be happy again, as before the war. But what I knew was the he could never be happily content. he could experience moments of joy, and he had with me. But he could never really be content with his life. I used to joke with him, saying that I could never tell if he was happy because he was always so serious. It was after that that he began to smile. but now he only bared his teeth at me, his presence full of pain and fear. I could never explain to him that it was not just a smile that made some one seem happy. It was their presence. That subtle glow that you couldn't so much see, but you could feel. Whenever I was with Conor, I felt this immense warmth. This hope, this amazing, dreadfully wonderful love that was too strong to ever pull away from. He had said he felt the same many a time, but I would never know for sure. How can you know if someone was a liar if they never admit to their lies? I wonder if he could see my feeling of utter bliss when I was with him, that glow that was only enforced with his knowing, serious gaze. Was he scared by my extreme need for him? Before I had met Conor I would of thought anyone crazy who needed him as much as I did. I knew he needed me too, so was that alright? Was obsession okay if it was received from both ends? There were always too many thoughts going through my head, and they were nearly... no always to do with Conor.
"Esme?" he called, breaking my train of thought. It was never exactly difficult for him to grasp my attention.
"Yes Conor?" I replied.
"How are you?" he inquired, though this was different. He was beaming. I could see that light that I'd been searching for, his beaming smile was now real though his eyes were still his, stunningly blue and ice cold.
"I'm fine Conor... what happened?" I asked teasingly, my face suspicious though joyful. He was happy!.
"I was thinking last night..." he began, my heart pounded as I recognised his reference to the nightmares he had while wide awake about the war.
"And I got a phone call, it was my army officer" My heart skipped a beat with fear.
"I don't have to fight. Well not for another year at least, I don't know. Nothings for sure but..-" He carried on mumbling his explanation but my mind became oblivious to the rest of what he said.
"You don't have to fight!" I exclaimed with joy and shock, he flinched.
"Esme..." he whispered, fear overcoming his voice, "Is it alright?... Is it alright to be happy?" It was my turn to flinch. What a confused man. I didn't think that I could feel more concern or love for him than I felt as he said those words. I felt a tear trickle down my face, and down to my smile which hadn't had time to fade yet. His eyelashes fluttered delicately and his left arm clenched as his unreadable gaze fell upon my wet face.
"Of course it is Conor, of course it is!" I ran up to hug him, sobbing with joy, love, regret, confusion, every emotion crammed into one hug. I graced his lips with mine, his face became imprinted with my salty tears as he held me against him. In desperation for understanding, in love.
"I'm sorry, I just. I'm happy but I'm sad. You know? Oh for fucks sake Esme... I hate the war." He exclaimed with a hint of anger beginning to intrude into is voice. I was still held tight against him, I doubted I would ever want to move as we kissed once again. Lost in each others confusion and need for love.
"Me too." I muttered between embraces, "Me too..." He pulled away regretfully.
"It's only a year Esme, maybe even less." The glow was gone. I hesitated before I answered his silent question. Would I stay by him? Be happy with him, even though I knew he was walking to his death in maybe less than 12 months. It would cause me pain, but what choice did I have? It was Conor.
"I love you too much to leave you Conor, way too much." He sighed and embraced me once again.
"In hope," he whispered, placing his lips on my head.
"In hope," I replied, meaning it more than ever.

Esme.

I would never wish anything more in my life than for Conor to have not gone into the war, and for him never to go again. He thinks I don't see it, but believe me, I do. His eyes are ice blue, hard and cold with hatred for the world. Hatred for everything except the things he loved most in the world. He loved those beautiful moments when the sun and the wind catch the corn in the field just right, and glimmer with utter perfection. He loved the slight summer breeze in spring, and the exciting shiver of winter, in the first days of autumn. But most of all, he loved me. He hated my smile, my innocence, my face, my positivity... but only because I was his, and he couldn't bear to ruin the utter perfection of my natural happiness. I may worry about Conor, but any thought on my mind to do with him was another second of heart blinding joy that I couldn't resist. I wish he would be happier, as he was before the war. But I could never change Conor, and in my heart, I knew I didn't want to.

.Conor

Her brown eyes are too soft, her complexion is too flawless. Her lips are too supple, and her heart is too certain. Her hair is too beautiful, her voice is too sweet. Her mind is too innocent and I wish it wasn't. I wish her brown eyes were hard and full of hate. I wish her complexion was ridden with spots and rashes. I wish her lips were cracked and pale as snow. I wish her hair was falling out, pulled and split ended. I wish her voice sounded like cow bells, loud and aggravating. I wish her mind was corrupted, even more than mine. Because maybe then I would feel like I deserved her a little more. Maybe then my mind would not constantly be ridden with guilt and hatred of myself for ruining her life... by loving her. But no, I bet if that were true, she would be even more amazing than she was now. I bet she could still win my heart even then. I would see her rash ridden face and cracked pale lips and fall in love all over again. Only to have the same thoughts as I have now, wishing she were not as perfect, wishing she didn't need me as much as I needed her.

Conor.

What is night?
And what is day?
What is right?
And what can we not say?
What is love?
And what is hate?
For only we,
Decide our fate.

.

It may seem unlikely, but Conor is the only thing on my mind. In the morning, I think about his beautiful eyes, so hypnotisingly beautiful it made everything around them seem oh so insignificant. In the day I see him, I couldn't bear a day without Conor, yet when I am with him, I analyse him. Every slight movement of an arm or his leg is noted in my mental book of Conors habits, those habits I love so much and make Conor the man I love. At night, if I am amazingly lucky enough to be with him, I watch him from under my eyelashes, lightly observing his antics. I had lost days worth of sleep staring at Conor's never resting eyes, my gaze locked on his perfectly formed back as he stared out to the sky, oblivious to the world around him. Yet I knew that I was on his mind, as he was always on mine. As the days pass, Conors everlasting presence in my thoughts had made me begin to worry. The immense concern I constantly felt about Conor was almost motherly, was it right for me to worry like that? He never slept for more than an hour, constantly looked stressed and was always so restrained. Only in our long talks in our field had he began to relax. His shoulders fell down, his hair was not constantly being messed with and his right hand didn't flicker at his side so much. I loved that Conor more than any other aspect of his personality, that was my Conor. Before I met him, I never worried, yet now my mind filled with concern whenever his imperfectly perfect form appeared before my eyes. Why did I have such a special connection to Conor? What was so special about him? It definitely was not his ever present manners and kindness, for many men were even nicer, even more gentlemanly, so why him? Why did my heart flutter rapidly whenever he came near? How come every step he took closer to me made my heart fly further and further out of my chest with each bump, I could swear he could notice. But his face was nearly always rock still, never moving. Never showing if he felt the same way too. He has said he loves me more than a hundred times, and I wish with all my heart I could believe it. I have sat for days with him, in utter silence, and he has stayed by me, meeting me the next day. Although I always greeted him with a loving smile, while he always greeted me with a hug, filled with desperation and loss. He needed me, but did he love me? I asked myself that question everyday, and for gods sake...I'd love to know the answer. But did it matter? No matter how he felt, I would keep on loving him, helping him and I would never leave him, ever. I feel unnerved by his urgency when he tells me he loves me, the depression in his voice makes it feel like he regrets saying it. Conor was not a selfish man, and may just have wanted to make me happy, though I knew in my heart he would never hurt my heart like that. He knew how much I loved him, I projected my love out from my body, making it apparent to the world. I poured my love and joy over him, but it was just a waterfall over a plastic statue, nothing would get in, unless it found a hole. He confuses me and I sometimes wonder what I have got myself into. He is very vulnerable and I have signed myself up for more than a relationship, it is so heart binding, so life changing, something neither of us would ever forget and I begged to god every day that it would never end. But what made me most scared of all, was there was never certainty in my voice. Conor was so unpredictable that the thoughts going through his mind terrified me. I love him with all my heart, with all my life, but does he?

. Conor

I don't think Esme will ever know how much I love her. Some could call it obsession, yet I knew Esme knew otherwise. It was the extreme fascination, adoration and above all adoration I felt for her. Her never waking nights entranced me as I wondered how could that be possible? To be at such peace with yourself and the world that you could fall asleep as soon as your head graced its soft pillow. Were there no doubts crashing through her mind? I felt as if her worries were only for me, and not for her. If I was with her, she was alright, she was safe from the never ending fear of my unhappiness. Although there must be some selfishness in there, some greed, hate, maybe some regret...of meeting me? No was the answer, for Esme had no doubts, no selfishness and loved everyone she met. I should of hated that about her, and I did... in a loving kind of way.

.

I sometimes find it... well to say hard would be an understandment. Sometimes my heart feels like its being ripped into a hundred pieces when I think about Esme, and thats on a good day. It can be excrutiatingly painful, yet the image of her in my mind was so addictive that I always yearned for it. She was too beautiful to be let down by me, I could never love her how she wanted me to, how I wanted to. Innocence and love radiated from her, so bright that even in my mind she was surrounded by a glowing warmth that made her even more heart breakingly amazing. I could never keep that love within her. I had already seen the pain in her eyes when I had told her only some of my past. That was only a fraction of the painful truth, but I could never tell her everything. You could see her loving glow fade as I told her more, to lie to her would be dispicable. I just restrained from telling her the whole truth, for I never wanted to see Esme without her angelic warmth and light.

.

I sometimes find it difficult to think about him. Especially when I think about the little things he does. Like when he smiles, those extremely rare times, he flinches just a little bit. As if it causes him pain to be happy. Although it's not that much better when he's serious, the way he nervously looks to the right if I compliment him in any way, his sharp intakes of breath if I remind him of something he does not want to be reminded of. His sheepish barely noticeable bending of his knees when he is insulted and that subtle extra flutter of his eyelashes when he is nervous. I find it hard to think about how these little mannerisms have come about. Were they natural? Something he had unconsciously picked up from his parents, or automatic reactions to things that he had experienced in the past. No, I didn't wonder, I knew. He had told me once, what seemed like a century ago.

In reality it was a very short time ago, but it was a time that I'd willed with all my heart to forget. I knew that in the army, Conor was not allowed to smile, as it showed rebellion or stupidity. I had asked him why? How could a soundless movement of the mouth indicate rebellion or ignorance? He had said that the officers thought that if someone smiled, they were either laughing at them or stupid enough to be enjoying the hell hole of a war we'd got ourselves into. His disgusted face had forever been engraved into my memory as he recounted the hundreds of times he had received a humiliating beating in front of his whole troop for smiling at a faint memory. The time he had nearly been shot because of laughing at his friends joke. I had been furious as he went into detail, not realising how much pain this put me in. Not a word was uttered from my mouth as he described his pain, anguish and distress as letters were sent to his home town, describing how he had let his troop down. Strangely, I wanted to hear what he had gone through and was hurt and intrigued as more and more descriptive words were chucked in my direction. Gradually, his ability to smile was a long forgotten gift that was hard to regain. It was not an automatic reaction to something funny or sweet as with me, it took effort for him to smile and I knew this now. To make it clear, he did not open up this easily, I had asked for everything and he couldn't refuse and let me not know his history, who he really was.
His nervous glances to right were a result of memories of people's compliments in the war. To say that you had killed more than 10 people in one day was an amazing feat. He would get congratulated for hours, unable to understand why joy and pride, who had always walked hand in hand with congratulation, could not come to him. You see even in the war, he knew that the killing was wrong, not for a greater good as people had said. The rest had been brainwashed, unknowing of their previous world of civilisation and humanity, before the war. The immense guilt Conor felt of being involved in something that glorified murder was to much to bear. His sharp intakes of breath were simply a result of the shock he felt in remembering his old life....When someone insulted him in the army, he couldn't take the hit, and that was not just metaphorically. Fights with his officer took place, simply because he couldn't accept his own failure. That was why his knees bent slightly, an automatic reflex to the punches he would receive when he got angry and dished them out himself.

When he told me these horrifying things I thought back to them, flinched with the memory and couldn't bear to believe they were true. He had told me more, said worse things that he had had done to him that were painful to even talk about. Before the war, people would of thought that these were lies. Although we were now in the midst of it all, death, pain and fear. To some people, Conors stories were nothing they hadn't heard of before. I was only happy for one thing, that that small extra flutter of his eyelashes was 100% my Conor, and nothing else.

.

My heart will beat no slower when you are gone
My soul will not surrender when you are gone
My life will not end when you are gone
But that is not to say that I would not wish all three of these things
If you were gone

Coldplay - See You Soon

I'm afraid. Esme whispered, shivering on the hottest day in July.
What of?
Life. Death. Loneliness. Togetherness.
I was silent.
But I've found all of that in you so how can I be scared?
I don't know.
Will you trust me?
I will.
Will you believe me?
I will.
Will you love me?
I do.

She laughed as the summer breeze blew the hair out of her face and swayed the corn in the fields. She pondered something for a while and then said.

*Till death do us part* is a very strange line in this occasion isn't it. With both of us so close to death, yet knowing that we'll always be together.

It is. I stated simply in reply.
Can you speak? She said, not in irritation, just in hope of another perspective of this.
Til faded hope do we part.
Explain.

When you can no longer believe, trust, love or try anything then there is no hope. That is what we are, isn't it? We are hope. To say in love is so overused and I wish it wasn't but it is. What we have is hope, for we are forever in fear of each other, though forever willing to believe in one another. We are willing to trust one another, and there is no way in hell we could do that without hope. So when hope fades, we fade away.

She placed her hand in mine and stared at me.

I'm afraid of hope. She whispered.
Me too. I told her, no longer afraid of being heard.