The lives we live…
The lives we live are not bright. The lives we live are illuminated not by spotlights, but faltering lamps on tired tables. The lives we live are not coveted for heroism, romance or beauty. They are but blanks on a timeline and all people wish for lives that go places, not for the ones that by being so bland make brightness so desirable.
Petunia wishes that she were a star. Petunia wishes she was the prettiest. She wishes her name was in a novel.
Lily is pretty and Lily is bright and her sister can’t stand it. Lily is the first and the last pages of a book, the ones no one manages to glaze over. She is a beginning and an end and the stunning climax and she is unforgettable.
Petunia is the page somewhere in the middle written only for the passing of time.
She wishes she were worth more than just time. The world is so full of time; it will never run out. And yet she will some day. She will wear out as time passes by, not bothering to slow down or show any sign of loss. Time will wave and blow a kiss when Lily is gone and Time will say in sadness, “There goes one whose name is made of stronger stuff than flesh.”
She always preferred skin over steel and she always liked to pretend that she thought she was the flesh and Lily the steel.
Petunia wishes she were the moon. Petunia wishes she were anything worth looking at.
The lives we live are not worth memory. Our lives are just names added carelessly to a list. The lives we live are the names that we bear and they fit into lists as all names do. Sometimes we are not much more than what the printing press tells. But our hearts never fit into lists and we spend these lives that we live looking for empty spaces, because our arms get tired of carrying them.
Peter wishes he were like James. Peter wishes he were like Sirius. He wishes he were like Remus.
He wishes he were like anyone, as long as he stays unlike himself.
His friends all know what they’ll be; for as long as they live, they will be who they want. James is a hero and Sirius is a blinding star and Remus is the one whom everyone loves. Peter is the little boy who spends too much time looking at the lives of others to ever care enough about his own.
The world to him is divided into heroes and audience and the people who give up before they even start. Peter sits in a front row seat and he watches as his friends live and die before the curtains shut, under the spotlights and under the world. He leaves safely through the Exit doors and his friends stay behind to receive their payment for keeping the world from falling to pieces; their names in blood carved into books and statues and hearts.
He wishes to be carved into hearts more than all.
But Peter’s name could never fit in a heart, for he has lost his own, from which to draw blood, somewhere in his pockets.
The lives we live are just tiles. The lives we live pretend to be enough to fill in for something else. These lives we live aren’t anything at all to them. The lives we live are glass cups wishing they were crystal. But crystal is easier to break, so it’s safer to be glass. It’s safer to live a ready life, rather than make our own; the people that do never end up well. The lives we live are safe, because they are not our lives at all.
Regulus wishes he could be like Sirius. Regulus wishes Sirius would just be less like himself.
He wishes Sirius could be a little less like what he wants to be. Sometimes he wants to be Sirius.
Sirius never liked rules, never followed advice. Sirius made his own world and there were many more stars in that world than there were in the world Regulus’ lived in. Regulus wonders how many stars there would be in his world, if he could make his own world.
Regulus wants to be stronger, braver and brighter. Regulus wants to be more than just a replacement of Sirius. It’s all about Sirius, but Regulus has never been resentful of that. Somewhere inside, he knows it is right.
He walks with a blindfold and he reads off a declaration someone wrote along time ago. His parents gave Sirius the same thing to read, but Sirius tore it to pieces. Regulus wishes Sirius would come back to rip up his paper too. But somewhere he knows that’s not right. Somewhere he really does want to rip it himself.
Regulus wishes right and wrong made a difference.
He wishes he were alive.
The lives we live are small and dull and substitutes. The lives we live are less than our dreams.
But they are our lives. They are all we have.
The lives we live shine only through the spaces we clear for them and are worth only as much as we are willing to pay.
These Lives We Live by Gin_Drinka
Story Notes:
Thanks to Nikki (fg_weasley) for being my fantastic beta. And thanks to harry_victoria too!
Please read and review.
Chapter Endnotes: Again, thanks to my betas fg_weasley and harry_victoria. And thanks to anyone who reviews this story. You'll make my day!