Villanelle, On Leaving Sunnydale
Author: brutti ma buoni
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 else…
**
Buffy didn’t mean to go to Angel’s
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 wasn’t 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 she’d known it
would be. Here and there she almost caught the scent of Angel, but it was fugitive.
He’d left nothing soft, no fabrics that might just hold a precious gasp of
Angel-smell. Just some simple furniture.
And a note.
Buffy,
If you’re reading this, I’m glad.
But also sorry. I didn’t know whether you would come to the mansion after I’d
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 can’t be together. But you’re
always with me. It helps me to be strong.
A
Daily the rising sun swears that I’m
not alive
I’m 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 I’m
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
I’m 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 I’m 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.
*