A vignette by aurora about her love for Belle in which I express my love for shitting <3
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I've never understood the paintings she created. Filled with gore and horror, yet so beautiful each in their own way. The colours that blend together to imitate a lilac sky—in reality they're just purple and blue strokes. Like her, when she seemed complicated at first but ended up being the simplest thing in my life.
Love is a fickle thing, it changes and evolves like everything else in this world, but the general idea is always the same. Love means to feel strongly for another person.
There can be different types of love—familial love, platonic love, romantic love. The love I hold for her is the neither familial nor platonic, which leaves one left.
I love her, which is why it's so hard to see her. Whenever I speak to her she talks of lies and falsity. I can trust half of what she says at best. When she laughs i have to question whether it's genuine, or if she's feeling pity on my poor soul. When she compliments i can't believe her, because why would she?
The only time I've ever gotten any undoubted truths out of Belle, she was squiffy. That seems to be the only time she ever speaks of herself.
It's hard not to notice that when Belle talks about her own life, she's drinking. Not drunk, but drinking. And what lovers don't speak? What lovers don't tell each other about their days? What lovers only ever truly talk to one another over a glass of alcohol?
In all honesty i don't Know whether our love is romantic or not. She says it is, but she also says she isn't an alcoholic and that is most clearly a lie.
Sometimes I fear that our story isn't meant to have a happy ending—that the years i have spent pining over this stunning brunette woman have been wasted and i will be left all alone once again.
Belle is painting again. I can hear her in the other room, the face of the canvas dragging against the brittle brushes. Whenever I look at those pictures it's like I can watch a story unfold in front of my eyes instead of colours and shapes. I can watch her for hours, adoration in my eyes as she moves her arms. But is that love?
Maybe it isn't love yet in a romantic sense, but it'd be a lie to say i feel nothing for her at all.
Something so human, dancing livelier than a flickering flame sparks inside of me. I would stare at her for days as she does domestic little things, just to experience that floating sensation that makes me feel more real than ever before.
Like the myth Icarus, I don't dare fly too close to the sun; to her. She's blinding and blazing and won't let me go if I drift too close, so I keep my distance away from her personally. I can only admire from afar usually, because I know that I cannot indulge in humanity for too long. Once my hand draws too close to the flame for even a second, I'll crash and fall into the neverending dark ocean.
Even if I do plummet from the sky as my wax wings melt and burn on my skin, it'd still be a most beautiful way to go. Embraced in her warmth, the warmth of humanity that I never once expected to experience myself.
Yes—that wouldn't be a cruel way to go, rather merciful instead. I can be waved goodbye by her face, a smile to be the last thought I have before reaching an inevitable death.
"Thinking of me?" A voice calls. I realise that I am not alone, and I was indeed thinking of her. I don't nod. She stares at me, silently asking for an answer and yet I refuse. Instead, I sit almost deathly still on the floor save for my fingers, unravelling the threads on the rug until the pads of my fingers are calloused and aching. Belle sighs, reaching for her glass, and I believe she already knew the answer anyway.
But i am not thinking of her. I will not grant her that satisfaction once again.
