A Symphony of ***ous Love
Part Two
Part Two:
A polished gramophone sat in the corner of the exquisite room, playing all her favourite tunes.
There, beside it, were piles of books, with yellowing pages and gold binding. On the nearby table sat unfinished knitting of what was to become a warm, woollen scarf.
A red, velvet lounge was placed beside an open lit fire, brightening the entire room.
But no one was seen in this room.
I’m gonna ride this plane,
Out of your life again,
I wish that I could stay,
But you argued.
Had you looked out the windows, you would have seen a fairly young woman, standing with her hands gripping the icy railing.
Snow was falling mellifluously around her, like a scene from a movie.
And if you paid even more attention to her, you would have noticed crystal tears falling just as gently as the snow, but not leaving a stain on her porcelain skin.
Yet, of course, no one paid that much attention to her, not that she minded.
More than this I wish,
You could’ve seen my face,
In the backseat staring out the window.
Conscription had been made for all men in Britain from the ages of 20, to 23.
If that wasn’t bad enough news, they had had an argument only days beforehand.
Perchance, it was sign; a sign that they were not meant for each other – that God had someone else in mind for them – or perhaps lonliness.
I’ll do anything for you,
Kill anyone for you.
It seemed smiles were rare, but hope was scarcely in existence. They left on a bad note, and she regretted it immensely.
How was she to know that she may never be able to apologise and forgive him? She was only young; it was young love, but it was true nonetheless.
Why had they gotten into an argument, over such a petty topic?
Perhaps, the topic wasn’t petty.
No, in fact, it was quite heart-wrenching.
But she could’ve just tossed it aside, and pretended to not notice, nor care.
So leave yourself intact,
‘Cause I will be coming back,
In a phrase to cut these lips,
I love you.
Her body gently shook, as her tears fell faster, yet the snow remained the same pace.
At least something is consistent, she thought to herself.
Out in the distance, the once green forest seemed like a blanket of snow.
The morning will come,
In the press of every kiss,
With your head upon my chest,
Where I will annoy you,
With every waking breath,
Until you decide to wake up.
She let her mind wander, into thoughts she had being trying to abandon for the past few days.
Oliver never really wanted to join the war… Or had he?
Perhaps she didn’t know him like she thought she did.
She never did think he’d betray her love like that, though.
What had possessed him? She had never really asked…
I’ve earned through hope and faith,
The curves around your face,
That I’m the one you’ll hold forever.
Violet turned around, and faced the magnificent house.
This house was not hers; it belonged to Oliver’s distant relative.
She would’ve preferred to live somewhere else, but she couldn’t. Her family had disowned her, because they did not approve of him.
He was not completely English, (though he was a citizen) as he said and was known by.
He had been born in Germany, though neither of his parents were German. For her family, that was enough reason to hate him.
If morning never comes,
For either one of us,
Then this I pray to you, wherever.
Of course, he made a mistake – but we all do, don’t we? Violet thought, remembering that night.
Subconsciously, she placed her cold hand to her neck, but there was no necklace, as there had been this time last week.
I’ll do anything for you,
This story is for you.
Cause I, I’d do anything for you,
Kill anyone for you.
He had been seeing another woman, although he and Violet were engaged. Violet was only eighteen, and Oliver was twenty-two…
Of course, it was not uncommon for men to have a mistress, or perhaps two, but he swore he’d never do that – especially not to Violet.
Though she felt such rage and betrayal, she still loved him.
She could forgive him, if only he forgave himself first.
So leave yourself intact,
‘Cause I won’t be coming back,
In a phrase to cut these lips,
I loved you.
But he had left with such a hurry, Violet never got time to tell him that she did love him.
She loved him, despite everything, and everyone.
This war was the problem, Violet thought sourly.
If there was no war, there would be no tension between England and Germany – or the English and the Germans.
Violet’s family would not mind Oliver, and they’d have certainly not abandoned Violet.
If there was no war, Oliver would still be here, most probably beside Violet, holding her hand.
Or maybe, they’d be listening to their favourite symphony, sitting near the blazing fire.
The morning will come,
In the press of every kiss,
With your head upon my chest,
Where I will annoy you,
With every waking breath,
Until you decide to wake up.
A strong gust of wind howled through the quiet house.
There was no sound, until a solid thump was heard.
Obviously, the house being empty, there was no one hear Violet fall to balcony floor. It had been all too overwhelming.
Her heart was heavy, and lost to memories she could never replace.
The person she wanted – needed – most was gone, for good.
Very rarely did soldiers return from war, and even if Oliver did return, Violet knew that he’d want nothing to do with her.
The morning will come,
In the press of every kiss,
With your head upon my chest,
Where I will annoy you,
With every waking breath,
Until you… decide wake up.
Her body was cold, and extremely pale.
Her eyes were shut, underneath her tangled blonde hair.
Who would ever predict that love could kill such a philanthropic person?
A polished gramophone sat in the corner of the exquisite room, playing all her favourite tunes.
There, beside it, were piles of books, with yellowing pages and gold binding. On the nearby table sat unfinished knitting of what was to become a warm, woollen scarf.
A red, velvet lounge was placed beside an open lit fire, brightening the entire room.
But no one was seen in this room.
I’m gonna ride this plane,
Out of your life again,
I wish that I could stay,
But you argued.
Had you looked out the windows, you would have seen a fairly young woman, standing with her hands gripping the icy railing.
Snow was falling mellifluously around her, like a scene from a movie.
And if you paid even more attention to her, you would have noticed crystal tears falling just as gently as the snow, but not leaving a stain on her porcelain skin.
Yet, of course, no one paid that much attention to her, not that she minded.
More than this I wish,
You could’ve seen my face,
In the backseat staring out the window.
Conscription had been made for all men in Britain from the ages of 20, to 23.
If that wasn’t bad enough news, they had had an argument only days beforehand.
Perchance, it was sign; a sign that they were not meant for each other – that God had someone else in mind for them – or perhaps lonliness.
I’ll do anything for you,
Kill anyone for you.
It seemed smiles were rare, but hope was scarcely in existence. They left on a bad note, and she regretted it immensely.
How was she to know that she may never be able to apologise and forgive him? She was only young; it was young love, but it was true nonetheless.
Why had they gotten into an argument, over such a petty topic?
Perhaps, the topic wasn’t petty.
No, in fact, it was quite heart-wrenching.
But she could’ve just tossed it aside, and pretended to not notice, nor care.
So leave yourself intact,
‘Cause I will be coming back,
In a phrase to cut these lips,
I love you.
Her body gently shook, as her tears fell faster, yet the snow remained the same pace.
At least something is consistent, she thought to herself.
Out in the distance, the once green forest seemed like a blanket of snow.
The morning will come,
In the press of every kiss,
With your head upon my chest,
Where I will annoy you,
With every waking breath,
Until you decide to wake up.
She let her mind wander, into thoughts she had being trying to abandon for the past few days.
Oliver never really wanted to join the war… Or had he?
Perhaps she didn’t know him like she thought she did.
She never did think he’d betray her love like that, though.
What had possessed him? She had never really asked…
I’ve earned through hope and faith,
The curves around your face,
That I’m the one you’ll hold forever.
Violet turned around, and faced the magnificent house.
This house was not hers; it belonged to Oliver’s distant relative.
She would’ve preferred to live somewhere else, but she couldn’t. Her family had disowned her, because they did not approve of him.
He was not completely English, (though he was a citizen) as he said and was known by.
He had been born in Germany, though neither of his parents were German. For her family, that was enough reason to hate him.
If morning never comes,
For either one of us,
Then this I pray to you, wherever.
Of course, he made a mistake – but we all do, don’t we? Violet thought, remembering that night.
Subconsciously, she placed her cold hand to her neck, but there was no necklace, as there had been this time last week.
I’ll do anything for you,
This story is for you.
Cause I, I’d do anything for you,
Kill anyone for you.
He had been seeing another woman, although he and Violet were engaged. Violet was only eighteen, and Oliver was twenty-two…
Of course, it was not uncommon for men to have a mistress, or perhaps two, but he swore he’d never do that – especially not to Violet.
Though she felt such rage and betrayal, she still loved him.
She could forgive him, if only he forgave himself first.
So leave yourself intact,
‘Cause I won’t be coming back,
In a phrase to cut these lips,
I loved you.
But he had left with such a hurry, Violet never got time to tell him that she did love him.
She loved him, despite everything, and everyone.
This war was the problem, Violet thought sourly.
If there was no war, there would be no tension between England and Germany – or the English and the Germans.
Violet’s family would not mind Oliver, and they’d have certainly not abandoned Violet.
If there was no war, Oliver would still be here, most probably beside Violet, holding her hand.
Or maybe, they’d be listening to their favourite symphony, sitting near the blazing fire.
The morning will come,
In the press of every kiss,
With your head upon my chest,
Where I will annoy you,
With every waking breath,
Until you decide to wake up.
A strong gust of wind howled through the quiet house.
There was no sound, until a solid thump was heard.
Obviously, the house being empty, there was no one hear Violet fall to balcony floor. It had been all too overwhelming.
Her heart was heavy, and lost to memories she could never replace.
The person she wanted – needed – most was gone, for good.
Very rarely did soldiers return from war, and even if Oliver did return, Violet knew that he’d want nothing to do with her.
The morning will come,
In the press of every kiss,
With your head upon my chest,
Where I will annoy you,
With every waking breath,
Until you… decide wake up.
Her body was cold, and extremely pale.
Her eyes were shut, underneath her tangled blonde hair.
Who would ever predict that love could kill such a philanthropic person?