When The War Comes

When The War Comes

When the bones of our oppressors have turned to dust;

And the cause that we serve rules the world.

In a vision, visitation, all hail the revolution!

He sleeps. I let him do so. The war is coming and they never leave him alone. That's why he loves the quiet of my rooms so very much; no one comes in here to disturb him. So, he comes here and I let him rest and he says that he loves me. I smile tolerantly and hold him close, soothing his fears and letting him feel as though he's not The-Boy-Who-Lived.

At least for a moment.

I like to watch him sleep. It's soothing, a balm for my splintered nerves. He looks so innocent when he's asleep, the only time when he actually looks his age. Usually, he looks far older. Yes, he still has the smooth skin and youthful features of a normal seventeen-year-old boy, but his eyes are hollow, haunted, ancient, and he's far too thin. Not to mention how unhealthy his skin tone is, and the dark circles around his eyes. Sometimes, I think that I'm the only one who notices.

Of course, it could simply be that I am the only one who cares. After all, he's a hero, strong, unbreakable, no one ever taught him to be anything but. They've cheated him and he's only now beginning to realize it. He is just now beginning to learn that you can bend without breaking. It's a hard lesson and one that I think may be a little late in coming. Better late than never, I suppose.

A vision of evo-, revolution.

Armies of the past retreat in the wake of revolution.

A journey to the country of the fourth admission,

A spectacle of awakening light.

The soldiers are baffled but still they fight.

There are so many expectations on him; he's in the very eye of the world. And he hates it with an unholy passion. He never asked for fame, he never asked for glory, all he wants is to be just like everybody else. But, of course, they can't allow that. He must be their precious saviour, their icon, their symbol in this war that started silently so long ago. It's hellish for him, but no one really seems to care. As long as he's alive and on the side of "light", they see him as being fine.

I used to think so little of him. In my eyes he was just a spoilt child with no respect for authority. Well, I was wrong. There, I've admitted it. He was never spoilt, nor was he ever a child. I can't say that he had any great respect for authority, but it is forgivable, after all, I've been known to be that way, too.

Life is short, that much is true, but whoever said that it is also sweet never saw a battlefield or the faces of victims of war, their lives torn apart by fighting they are not involved in.

And everyone continues to fight.

Creator; destroyer; victory; defeat;

I did not come to bring a sleep.

Black flag; red flag; space and time;

The future is in my mind.

I know what the future will bring. If the war doesn't kill him, if he somehow manages to succeed and accomplish the impossible, they won't give a damn about him when it's over. At the end of the day, when everything has been said and done, he's going to be left with nothing.

Well, he'll always have me. I will be there when all is finished and they are clearing away the bodies of the dead, to take him in my arms and let him know that he is not alone.

Judgment day descends upon us after the revolution.

On the lips, the light called Truth.

A modest time for victory.

Energy imprisoned will make itself free.

And when it's over, when the side of light has won, they'll give him his time to savour the victory, but then they'll cast him aside. I wonder what will happen when that moment comes. Of course, there is always the possibility that he will not survive, but... No, I'm not going to even imagine trying to live in a world without him. That sounds so cliché, but it's true.

I need him, he's my entire world, all I've got, the only person I have ever known who will take my venom and spit it back at me. Then smile later as thoug nothing happened at all. What we have is perfect entirely because it isn't perfect. But it is mine and I will hold onto it with everything I have.

I honestly love him. Faults and all.

Creator; destroyer; victory; defeat;

I did not come to bring a sleep.

Black flag; red flag; space and time;

The future is in my mind.

There are other possibilities for the future, but I think that mine is the most likely. My beloved Harry is only a tool, only a weapon. They don't see, they can't, they never even try. I often wonder why he chose me. I'm not good-looking in any way, shape, manner, or form, and my personality really isn't much more attractive. And, yet, he says that he loves me.

I know better than to dismiss his declarations of love as teenaged hormones, he's too controlled, too mature, too un-teenaged for it to be that. Besides, it isn't sex. We rarely have sex. Most of the time, he comes to see me, we kiss, we cuddle, we rest, we talk, and we sleep peacefully because the other is right there. It's not about lust. It never has been.

Someday soon, he's going to have to go off to fight, and when he does, we won't have this any more. But he doesn't seem to worry about that. He's too strong to worry about that. Besides, I worry about it enough for both of us. Soon, this beautiful thing will be over.

When the war comes... When the war comes...

When the war comes... When the war comes...

War comes... When the war comes...