Giving In
Thyme

I saw him again yesterday. God, it's been so long, and I never really expected to find him, but there he was. I saw him, I actually SAW him. The first time I saw him I was almost convinced that it was just my hopeful mind playing tricks on my eyes, but there was no way it could have been anyone else. No one else has violet eyes that sparkle the way his do, or a soft chestnut braid that sways just so in the wind. I admit to being surprised -- Hell, I almost fell over frozen in shock. But there he was, just the same, walking down the street not ten feet away from me and parting the crowd like Moses. It rained that day, and his clothes and hair were soaked while little rivulets of water swam across his skin. I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful.

Actually, to be perfectly honest, half of me wishes that I HAVE just been imagining things, and that wasn't REALLY him. That way, I won't be disappointed if I see him again and I'm forced to look into his eyes and watch tired violet smolder into pale, dead ashes. His eyes have always been so alive, and I'm afraid he's changed. I want to remember him forever the way I saw him those few days we were captured when the war was still going on. That boy is a comedy, mystery, irony, and a tragedy all in one, but his true intention toward life is the most amazing thing I've ever come across and ever will. He tries so hard to fool people into thinking otherwise, like he's not worthy of life, but I can see past all that. If given half a chance, I'd give him everything he's ever wanted on a silver platter. He's the most exquisite thing ever made, and I want to remember him exactly the way I do now.

I'm scared shitless that I'll screw everything up if I meet him again. I'm lost right now. Every cell in my tired body wants to see him again, but my mind and heart are hesitant. What to do? Playing the silent admirer is nothing new to me, but sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm missing out on something really big. It makes me nervous.

But you know what? None of this, nothing that I think about him really matters. Know why? Because HE can't ever know I think the things I do. Sure, I could tell him, but I sincerely think there's a better chance of a snow ball fight taking place in Hell between Satan and Jesus. But seriously, what's the point of all this if I have no one to share it with? I guess it's the same way with mourning. There's no way to share your grief with the one you're shedding your tears for, but you do it anyway for more your own comfort than anything else. So I suppose all this thought abut Duo is my own way of coming to terms with the way I've always admired the beautiful idiot.

Sometimes, though, I wish I'd realized it earlier so I could have shared it with him. It gets lonely, sometimes, by myself. It's funny, really. I think I'm pining after something that doesn't even exist anymore, some all-wonderful image of him I've made for myself. Relena used to tell me I was just fooling myself, thinking I was in love, but looking back now I think she was just jealous. Not that I blame her. I myself am a little jealous of him and the beautiful way he never had a problem saying just what the Hell was on his mind.

God, but I've missed him.

Rethinking this, I don't fucking care if his eyes are colder than winter when I look at him. Anything, just to see him again. His smile and laughter and words are constant in my mind and memory. Dammit, I NEED him. I'm finally to the point where I'm forced to rely on tired violet eyes to keep my life intact. Anything to see him again, God, ANYTHING just to see him again. I'll throw away any old fixed ideas or memories I used to have of him and make new ones if need be. And this time, I swear I'll never break my promise and leave him.

It's funny, though. After all this time, I'm still giving up, only this time around, it's to HIM. I'm giving in to my love for Duo Maxwell.

Finally.