A Conversation With Myself

ForevaXena's FanFic . . .

A Conversation With Myself

by Magenta

DISCLAIMERS: I don't own 'em, wish I did...things would have turned out differently. Universal / MCA/ RenPics does own them so thinks turned out the way they did thanks to them.

I find myself in an extremely good mood right now and can't work on this one part of a different story because it's sad.

This is inspired by thoughts of my past and my past loves. I've had some really odd dreams this past week, and memories are cropping up that...well, have no bearing on my life right now.

This short fiction deals with love between two women and hopefully you know the drill. Should it be illegal where you live, or to you, then don't read the bloody thing.

As odd as my friends who know my past would think of this, this is for SML. Don't worry, guys, my torch went out years ago...

As for who this is...well, I think I wrote it as Gabrielle thinking about Xena, but it could be either. It's really up to you. (I love stories like that, don't you? *g*)

Have you ever loved someone so much it hurt? Is love supposed to hurt like that? I mean, isn't love supposed to lift you above the pain in your life, make you almost impervious to death and sickness?

Or am I just a hopeless romantic...?

Yeah, that's probably it.

I dunno...sometimes when I look at her, and I see that fire in her eyes, I feel like that same fire is burning a path through my body and I pray that someday, maybe that fire would be meant for me. When she touches me, there's this current of, what else could it be but love?, that passes between us, but I can't tell if she feels it...

Maybe that's what hurts so much...that I can't tell if she loves me, too.

I mean, I know she loves me, I'm her best friend, but I don't know if she LOVES me...you know, if she COULD love me the way I wish she would...so I sit by the campfire and watch how the firelight dances on her skin or how even the most simple movement is so gracefully complex, just like her. I pretend that I'm doing something else, or I pretend to sleep, so I can watch her.

I don't think about anything. I don't think about sex, love, family, I don't think about how she'd feel writhing against me...I just watch her. And it makes me smile. Is that weird? that the only thing I do when I watch her is smile?

I wish I knew what goes through her head when she catches me watching her. All she does is give me this enigmatic smile and turn back to whatever occupied her at the time she looked up and found me watching her with that goofy little grin of mine.

Every time I watch her, I find a new facet that completely captivates my attention. Like, tonight...I found myself enthralled with the hollow of her throat. I don't know why...maybe it was the shadows thrown by the fire, but it was intoxicating. Even thinking about it makes me smile.

I don't think I'm in lust with her because I don't dream about throwing her down and showing her a few skills of my own...okay, that's not true, I DO dream about that, but not enough to constitute being in lust.

What I want is to hold her and whisper stories into her ear tailor-made just for her. I want to be able to say "I love you" and not have it mean something else. I want to kiss her for hours on end, just kiss her...even if it leads to nothing else that night, or if it leads to a world of possibilities. Sometimes, you just need the comfort of physical contact.

The night goes on and we both finally retire to Morpheus' embrace...and I hope that maybe this will be the night that we break routine and I get enough courage to just jump into her bedroll with her. Not for sex, but for love.

Ah well...maybe I did die the first time and my resurrection was actually my passage into this Tartarus of an existence where I burn for her, but I can't extinguish the fire. And maybe each time I die I actually pass deeper into my punishment...the fire burns brighter, the hunger becomes all-consuming, and I feel lost. But I haven't died again, at least not yet, so I'm only supposing...

I would die again if I got to know, at least for a moment, that she did love me as much as I loved her...but if that happened, and I died again, would the next plane of torture be that we're still platonic, that she forgot she ever told me, but I knew her feelings were the same as mine and couldn't act on it?

So I ask myself as I wistfully sigh for the third time in so many minutes, "Am I in love with her?" If I'm not, please Aphrodite, don't make me feel the real thing...I don't think I could take it...

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