Villanelle, On Leaving Sunnydale

Author: brutti ma buoni

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Summary of the story: in an interlude after Graduation Day, Buffy discovers a message from Angel

Rating: PG

Additional note: the poem Angel writes for Buffy is in the form of a villanelle [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villanelle]. It's a very strict repeating form which allows the writer to focus in very tightly on a subject. As though they can't think of anything elseÖ

 

**

 

Buffy didnít mean to go to Angelís place. He was gone. It was just a house now. The first week after graduation, she stayed away. And the second. The third, she walked down the street in front of it. But that wasnít visiting. The fourth week she stayed away, but that was easy, because she was with her Dad. The fifth week was busy, lots of collegey preparations to be done and beach trips and fun. The sixth week, she knew Willow and Oz wanted a little more alone time. And Cordelia was long gone, and Xander was packing. But she stayed away.

 

Till Friday.

 

Then she went inside.

 

It was empty, as sheíd known it would be. Here and there she almost caught the scent of Angel, but it was fugitive. Heíd left nothing soft, no fabrics that might just hold a precious gasp of Angel-smell. Just some simple furniture.

 

And a note.

 

 

Buffy,

 

If youíre reading this, Iím glad. But also sorry. I didnít know whether you would come to the mansion after Iíd gone. I should have cleared out completely. But I wanted to leave you something, if you needed it.

 

I gave you sonnets once. I know it was too much, too soon, obscure. But I look at you, and I see poetry.

 

We canít be together. But youíre always with me. It helps me to be strong.

 

A

 

 

Daily the rising sun swears that Iím not alive

Iím glad it was you that sent me to hell

Your tears as you killed me helped me to survive

 

One beat, the sword slips in, count two-three-four-five

I fall into the vortex, into dimensions where tortures dwell

Daily the rising sun swears that Iím not alive

 

Undead but still conscious, they can still deprive

Me of reason. Ripping pain. Blazing flame. Sulphur smell.

Your tears as you killed me helped me to survive

 

Centuries passed. My pain payments, I hoped, would shrive

Me of some guilt. Leave me more than a penitent shell.

But daily the rising sun swears that Iím not alive

 

Not a fool. I long ago stopped hoping release would arrive

A light, hideous in the dark blood-chambers. Upwards, I fell

Your tears as you killed me helped me to survive

 

Now my unlife continues. I must endlessly strive

To find meaning, back in the world in which I now dwell

Yes, daily the rising sun swears that Iím not alive

But your tears as you killed me help me to survive

 

*

 

Buffy kept the poem. Read and reread. Not always certain she understood his message, but she couldn't let it go.

 

If she'd ever doubted he could forgive her for sending him to hell, she had her answer now.

 

Their love was born in contradiction and impossibility. So it would continue.

 

*