Better Days Than This
Dec. 12th, 2005 11:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gone_byebye( River, river carry me on / Living river carry me on / River, river carry me on / To the place where I come from…)
It's been enough days since the battle that his brain's had time to settle and his body's had time to mostly recover. It's been enough days since Master Qui-Gon told him about the Trials that he's able to sort that part out calmly. (Not that it doesn't still make him gleeful inside to think of, but it's not overwhelming now- he can think of it without squirming like a puppy.) And since Mary O'Brien arrived, since the reunion forced him to think about Romana objectively. . . well.
( So deep, so wide, will you take me on your back for a ride / If I should fall, would you swallow me deep inside… )
It's going to be a long time before that settles in his brain. If it ever settles at all.
( River, show me how to float / I feel like I’m sinking down…)
He'd wanted to pick up the 'sabre and the training remote and practice until his muscles shook, until he couldn't practice any more- until he was as physically wrung out as mentally. It seemed like the two ought to match. He'd set out with that intention- but he'd never gotten there. Obstacles kept popping up, in the form of people- Agatha, Bonnie, Mary- and he'd never made it to the practice room.
( Thought that I could get along / But here in this water / My feet won’t touch the ground / I need something to turn myself around…)
Morning, now. And the thought of practice. . . well. It's an appealing one. He can throw himself into that with all his might and not have to think about everything that's happened. That's damned appealing right now.
( Going away, away towards the sea / River deep, can you lift up and carry me )
He's done that before. Work has always been a good friend to him. It's bought him time, it's bought him breathing space, it's kept him doing things he's good at. This is just a different kind of work, a more challenging one- one that'll hurt on a more immediate level if he gets it wrong, but hey, he's used to that, isn't he? How many times now has he gotten zapped because he wasn't fast enough, clever enough, good enough?
( Oh roll on though the heartland / ’til the sun has left the sky / River, river carry me high / ’til the washing of the water make it all alright / Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight…)
And that's the thing. Good enough. That's what it boils down to, isn't it?
( Letting go, it’s so hard / The way it’s hurting now / To get this love untied)
If you were good enough, she wouldn't have changed her mind. She'd still be here. If you were good enough, you could have seen this coming. If you were good enough, you could fix this. And you can't-
( So tough to stay with this thing / ’cause if I follow through / I face what I denied )
That's where he stops. Right there, between one step, one breath, one thought and the next. The last time he thought like that, he woke up the next morning with a hangover and the plans for a proton assault cannon on his holocomputer.
He might not be Force sensitive, but he knows the Dark Side when he smells it.
(I get those hooks out of me / And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side / Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide…)
He pushes the palms of his hands together (no scars there any more, more's the pity- he'd just about come to like them), and takes a deep breath.
No, I can't fix it. I can't change what's set in that time stream. And neither can anyone else. That's the kind of thing that brings down the Hounds of Tindalos and there is no one in existence who can overcome that. No one. At all. Anywhere, anywhen. Either she's gone or she isn't, and either way, what's happened, stays happened. There's no 'good enough' or 'not good enough'. And if she changed her mind about me- well- that hurts like hell just to think about, but what else could I have done?
The treacherous voices are still murmuring that he could have done better, done more, made her think better of him somehow, but they're not so convincing any more. Not with the specter of the Hounds hanging over 'if you were good enough, you could fix time'. That much is a lie-
( I could be lost inside their lies )
-and if that's falsehood, then why should he trust the rest?
( without a trace )
I can't fix it.
( but every time I close my eyes )
But that doesn't mean I'm not good enough. It just means that there are some things I can't fix. The human race is like a hill of ants that sits at the foot of the Chicago El and says 'what was that?' when the train goes by, and if the ants don't understand Chicago, they can't be faulted, because it's Chicago and they're ants-
(I see your face )
The only fault lies in giving up, in staying nothing but ants and letting Chicago run over them. The only thing I've failed at is understanding why this happened. And even that's not failing if I haven't stopped trying.
Not good enough, my ass.
There were arguments inside his head, nagging, dragging, pulling at him before. Not so much, now. It'll be a long time before he's rid of them entirely, if he's ever rid of them at all, but he knows them now and he doesn't have to listen any more. So he doesn't.
He's got better things to do.
(Lyrics presented are from two different songs: "Washing of the Water", by Peter Gabriel, and "If I Ever Lose My Faith", by Sting.)
It's been enough days since the battle that his brain's had time to settle and his body's had time to mostly recover. It's been enough days since Master Qui-Gon told him about the Trials that he's able to sort that part out calmly. (Not that it doesn't still make him gleeful inside to think of, but it's not overwhelming now- he can think of it without squirming like a puppy.) And since Mary O'Brien arrived, since the reunion forced him to think about Romana objectively. . . well.
( So deep, so wide, will you take me on your back for a ride / If I should fall, would you swallow me deep inside… )
It's going to be a long time before that settles in his brain. If it ever settles at all.
( River, show me how to float / I feel like I’m sinking down…)
He'd wanted to pick up the 'sabre and the training remote and practice until his muscles shook, until he couldn't practice any more- until he was as physically wrung out as mentally. It seemed like the two ought to match. He'd set out with that intention- but he'd never gotten there. Obstacles kept popping up, in the form of people- Agatha, Bonnie, Mary- and he'd never made it to the practice room.
( Thought that I could get along / But here in this water / My feet won’t touch the ground / I need something to turn myself around…)
Morning, now. And the thought of practice. . . well. It's an appealing one. He can throw himself into that with all his might and not have to think about everything that's happened. That's damned appealing right now.
( Going away, away towards the sea / River deep, can you lift up and carry me )
He's done that before. Work has always been a good friend to him. It's bought him time, it's bought him breathing space, it's kept him doing things he's good at. This is just a different kind of work, a more challenging one- one that'll hurt on a more immediate level if he gets it wrong, but hey, he's used to that, isn't he? How many times now has he gotten zapped because he wasn't fast enough, clever enough, good enough?
( Oh roll on though the heartland / ’til the sun has left the sky / River, river carry me high / ’til the washing of the water make it all alright / Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight…)
And that's the thing. Good enough. That's what it boils down to, isn't it?
( Letting go, it’s so hard / The way it’s hurting now / To get this love untied)
If you were good enough, she wouldn't have changed her mind. She'd still be here. If you were good enough, you could have seen this coming. If you were good enough, you could fix this. And you can't-
( So tough to stay with this thing / ’cause if I follow through / I face what I denied )
That's where he stops. Right there, between one step, one breath, one thought and the next. The last time he thought like that, he woke up the next morning with a hangover and the plans for a proton assault cannon on his holocomputer.
He might not be Force sensitive, but he knows the Dark Side when he smells it.
(I get those hooks out of me / And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side / Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide…)
He pushes the palms of his hands together (no scars there any more, more's the pity- he'd just about come to like them), and takes a deep breath.
No, I can't fix it. I can't change what's set in that time stream. And neither can anyone else. That's the kind of thing that brings down the Hounds of Tindalos and there is no one in existence who can overcome that. No one. At all. Anywhere, anywhen. Either she's gone or she isn't, and either way, what's happened, stays happened. There's no 'good enough' or 'not good enough'. And if she changed her mind about me- well- that hurts like hell just to think about, but what else could I have done?
The treacherous voices are still murmuring that he could have done better, done more, made her think better of him somehow, but they're not so convincing any more. Not with the specter of the Hounds hanging over 'if you were good enough, you could fix time'. That much is a lie-
( I could be lost inside their lies )
-and if that's falsehood, then why should he trust the rest?
( without a trace )
I can't fix it.
( but every time I close my eyes )
But that doesn't mean I'm not good enough. It just means that there are some things I can't fix. The human race is like a hill of ants that sits at the foot of the Chicago El and says 'what was that?' when the train goes by, and if the ants don't understand Chicago, they can't be faulted, because it's Chicago and they're ants-
(I see your face )
The only fault lies in giving up, in staying nothing but ants and letting Chicago run over them. The only thing I've failed at is understanding why this happened. And even that's not failing if I haven't stopped trying.
Not good enough, my ass.
There were arguments inside his head, nagging, dragging, pulling at him before. Not so much, now. It'll be a long time before he's rid of them entirely, if he's ever rid of them at all, but he knows them now and he doesn't have to listen any more. So he doesn't.
He's got better things to do.
(Lyrics presented are from two different songs: "Washing of the Water", by Peter Gabriel, and "If I Ever Lose My Faith", by Sting.)
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Date: 2005-12-14 01:15 pm (UTC)The coordinates will lead to
The thread will be open for a whole real time week because we know this is short notice for players, but also would like everyone to attend who would want to.
The comm will be open to non-member comments for the duration of the wedding and reception.