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Author Topic: Saudade [Self indulgent solo thing]  (Read 308 times)

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Offline nephero

Saudade [Self indulgent solo thing]
« on: October 19, 2017, 01:49:51 pm »
Eighth, eighth and quarter. No, shit. Maybe if he dropped the duration down again, picked up the pace? Mm, but would that sound too manic? That wasn't exactly the vibe he was going for here.

What was the vibe he was going for here? What was he even doing this for?

Yavul let his fingers linger over the string, applying the faintest pressure and moving in slow, gentle circles. The note held, wavered, faded after a breath, taking the soft wail with it until nothing remained but the faint ticking of the metronome on the coffee table.

It felt bittersweet. And that was what this was all about, wasn't it? Yavul chewed at his lip, scribbled down a couple notes for himself in the well worn notebook he'd been poring over the last few days. A labor of love that would never see the light of day. Words that would never be spoken, or heard, because how could they?

In the end, it didn't change anything. It didn't change the fact that he'd lost. It didn't change the fact that this was just… simply never meant to be.

Yavul had known from the start, of course. It had been made crystal clear for him, in no uncertain terms, that whatever happened would remain where it happened.

Kept quiet, just between them.

And fool that he was, he'd thought he could deal with that. Wasn't that what normal Aedolians did anyway? You had your hookups, you had your fun, and that was it. That was the most of it, and getting all caught up in it, letting himself daydream and pretend that maybe just maybe it could work out, that was just…

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Yavul took a breath, ignored how much it shook, and carried on. This part, at least, he was good at. He was good at picking up the pieces and moving on. Great at it, even. A goddamn grand master of the art.

Not to say he hadn't wanted to completely lose his mind over it. There was always that temptation, that base instinct to scream and yell and cry and just rail against how goddamn unfair it all was.

But how is it unfair? would always come the question, and like that, all fire and brimstone was robbed of him, leaving him shaking in the residual heat of long dead coals. Because it wasn't unfair. He had no right to demand anything of anyone-- they'd never spoken about what they wanted, they'd never said what they needed; the only discussion they'd had was more along the lines of “well, THAT happened, I'd like it if you never told anyone about it.”

And that was that.

It should have been his cue to cut it off right then and there. Yavul had known better-- Yavul knew that these one and done things weren't his style, and he'd known that they were absolutely Grisham's style, and yet here he was! Dumb ass planted firmly on the couch, writing fucking songs about the whole thing like that would even matter.

It wouldn't ever matter. But like every single other time since that morning in Amristah, Yavul found himself right back where he was, ready for round two, three, so on and so forth into oblivion.

Was he even okay with that? Could he be okay with that?

Was there any part of this that he could learn to be okay with?

And therein lay the feeling of it all-- harsh and tanging and sour, with the underlying notes of sugar to make it all worth the hurt that came with it.

Bittersweet.

Saudade.

Well, he mused, sitting up a little straighter and working through the opening notes again. If nothing else, at least he had a song title.

Saudade. Noun.

A deep melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Something or someone that will never return.

Not in the way Yavul wanted, anyway.

Fighting back a peel of laughter-- because nothing said ‘rock bottom’ like laughing alone in your empty living room with nothing around to cause it-- he started over, found the feeling, and pressed the strings right along with it.

I never meant to lead the thought of you and me
somewhere so compromising.
But now I think I see there's nowhere to retreat,
I'm past the event horizon.
I never meant to need your love so thoroughly,
All I want’s to make you Home.
Tell me how to proceed, thoughts of you supersede
all of the writing in my bones
.”

Maybe there was a reason to all of this. Maybe this wasn't so pointless. Because in the end, regardless of the inanity of his emotional attachments to someone who wasn't his and never would be, they were still there. And at least here, in this, he could express it and then just… let it go.

Oh, I feel it crush my so-oul,
steal my breath and leave me co-old,
but in my heart I kno-ow,
I just crave the underto-ow, oh!
Ma belle appel du vide!
It's with you I long to be,
Amoureux de vos débris,
caught up in your stormy seas!
Ça va être bien, bonheur est tout…


And like that, some kind of miracle that it was, he could feel his shoulders grow lighter. This would he okay. He would always be okay. He bounced back just like always, and everything was normal again. This was just how things would be. It wasn't what he wanted, it wasn't at all what he wanted but…

But it was close. Being friends was close. Being a part of that feeling of camaraderie and (mostly) platonic support was close. And close was good enough. He was a Valkyrie, the Commander of the Valkyries.

He'd made far less work out before.

If there were any way I could get you to stay,
to let me call you my own?
All the stars I would trade, each dawn and yesterday--
You can write it on my headstone.


(Woof, okay, maybe that line was a little melodramatic. He could edit it later. Pressing on.)

Please hear me when I say, in the end it's okay--
Like the sun, I pay no mind.
So the stars, they can stay, my heart won't ever sway,
I'll just linger on behind.

Oh, I feel it crush my so-oul,
steal my breath and leave me co-old,
but in my heart I kno-ow,
I just crave the underto-ow, oh!

Ma belle appel du vide!
It's with you I long to be,
Amoureux de vos débris,
caught up in your stormy seas!
Ça va être bien, bonheur est tout…

Hey now, well, here we are? In the sand and the stars
And yet, so far beyond them.
I'm sure in some memoirs, about trains and cigars,
there's a page or maybe ten.
And there I'll pencil in my own sweet little sin.
With some tape, I'll close this vein.
Oh, there's no telling when it all stops feeling thin,
But like you, I'll still love this pain.


And that was it. It was okay. Sure, he'd let himself fall in love, and sure, it had bitten him right in the ass. Sure, Harley had won, and sure, Yavul was okay with that. It was just how it was. Shit happened, and you dealt with it. Arms fell off, loved ones left, and that was just how life went.

Ma belle appel du vide!
It's with you I long to be,
Amoureux de vos débris,
caught up in your stormy seas!
Ma belle appel du vide!
It's with you I long to be,
Amoureux de vos débris,
caught up in your stormy seas--


A half step lost, as the com on the coffee table lit up, and Yavul nearly laughed to recognize the designated notification tone.

Ma belle appel du vide, I hear you callin’ me.

 

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