Even angles have their wicked schemes

Skylar Gray ft. Eminem - Love the Way you Lie

The night grew long.  He paused.  The tip of the quill dipped into the ink.  So black.  So dark.  He began to write.  Whips of smoke was all that he had left.  But if he wrote long enough, she would appear.  She would... even if it was only an ethereal form.  He knew that if fire was added to a trace of rising smoke, it would chase down and reignite... at least in his mind.  So he would write.  She would appear.

A faint apparition to be sure.  Nothing more than a shadow really.  His writing would increase in speed.  Her form slowly became more solid.  The gleam in her eye would light.  How he longed to reach to her.  To only touch.  Longing to hear the sing song of her laughter... but really wanting her only to say something... anything.  The moment he stopped writing, she would slowly fade.  Even if he returned to his furious pace, she would disappear.  A fools game.

Perhaps he was wrong.  In his writing.  Perhaps he wrote only what he wanted to see.  He wouldn't speak of the turmoil.  Should he tell of the the drunken answers, should he tell of the shock of her way of concluding the conversations "Gotta Motor."  Sounds cute, sounds clever, that is until you watch Heathers and realize that this was  the way that all of the Heathers would conclude their conversations.

Perhaps it was too much.  Maybe he was the fool.  People change.  Some grow deeper.  Some shrink.  It all has to do with the battles they face.  As we grow life has a way of crushing.  If we accept it, we fit in.  A land where everyone likes us... but ourselves.  If you fall outside the status quo, you have two simple choices: you become a victim or you become an outlaw.  Victims are easy as they are pliable.  They deserve our pity.  Outlaws on the other hand demand our recognition.  Though ostracized, they are the ones that advance society.  They are the ones who really care.  They are the ones who are fierce in purpose, savage in passion.  They can stand being unloved, for their dreams they persevere.  They don't quit.  But revolutions are costly.  So costly.  If he had to walk alone, he was used to it.  

 Perhaps, he thought, she had become like a hollow Chocolate Easter bunny, that looked so good in the box, as soon as he took a bite, it would crack into a hollow, revealing the dream was nothing more than a facade.  All she had to do was say "hello".  Something so simple... yet he knew she wouldn't.  But until then, he would write with his eyes closed.  She would forever hold the last word.  And if she didn't speak again, he would hold her last seven words tightly to his heart.