Post by Sensiblyquirky on Jan 4, 2005 2:25:38 GMT -5
Is it bad to care too much? Who does it hurt more: others or yourself? I think yourself…others reap the benefits of your time, effort, your patience, and your caring ways. But you…no you get pushed aside when they are done with you, they think you are too sweet, unnatural, and they look for other sources of friends. Then you are left still caring, but no one caring about you. Perhaps that is the paradox of it all….you care so much that it hurts, hurts when other people hurt, hurts when you can’t fix the problem; but no one cares for you as much as you care for them. Or at least it seems that way, so if you are strong you close up. You don’t let others see how much you care…you hide behind a façade or a shadow, only coming out when you are alone or at night when the sun can’t shine on you. Then you cry those salty tears for those you can’t save, and for yourself. Most of the time the tears are for other people, but sometimes, sometimes they are for you. How alone you feel, how second rated you feel, and how much you wish you didn’t care. Sometimes you try not to care, to leave it; but it never works. In the end you care just as much if not more, and that never stops. People, if you let them know you care, will tell you not to care so much but you can’t stop it. You try, and you fail. If you are weak you show it all the time, and people know you care too much. Some people will take advantage of that, and they will use you when they need you and then discard you as if you are yesterday’s trash. Food to fill their stomachs, or cloth to clothe their backs; but as soon as the job is done they are done with you and out you go. You are left wondering what you did wrong, what you said that wasn’t right, and how to change. Always second guessing, and always still caring. They may discard you, but you still care. Maybe people don’t want you to care that much; maybe they get sick of the worrying and the fussing, the friendly advice; so you try to let them bring it up…you try to get them to understand without condemning but it only feels like they simply change who they condemn…who they loathe….who they are sick of and you become that person. You annoy them, you bother them, they want you to stop but don’t know how to tell you that you are too much. So they drift away, close up, and you are left to ponder on all the mistakes and yet you still care. That’s the hardest part. At the end of the day when it is over, and you are left alone you still care, you still worry, and you can’t stop. You just can’t stop. I want to stop; I want to stop caring, and worrying, and crying over people and things I cannot change, but I can’t. I just can’t. I guess what I want more is for one person to care that much about me; and for one person to not push me away. To come first for just one person, but you can’t make others care as much as you do. You keep hoping, but as the years pass and the chances become fewer your hope dwindles. You resign yourself to caring as you always do, and living with the fact that no one will ever care as much for you.
Albus Dumbledore finished reading the tear stained parchment, and realized his hand was shaking and his cheeks were wet. Yet he couldn’t put the piece of parchment down; his eyes roamed over the words again and again. The sadness, nay in some parts despair, that echoed from the chaotic movement of the ink touched him deeply.
He was still standing by her desk, just standing there like an ancient Egyptian king represented in the immovable statues his countrymen made in his name. One hand gripped the parchment, while the other hung limply by his side.
Albus was lost in time and space. His mind raced through his memories of her, and there were many. So many from which to examine, and choose but he did not allow himself the luxury of examining the more pleasant memories. He was looking for evidence, or anything to tell him she was wrong. Never mind that these were her thoughts, and this her handwriting; she just had to be wrong.
Memory Number One,
“Minerva why are you crying?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Albus I didn’t know you were in here.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question, why are you crying?”
“It’s silly really, but oh alright. There is just this student I’ve been talking with outside of class. Her mother is ill, and I’m trying to be supportive…she looked like she could need it. And, well, I was on my way here when I overheard a conversation she was having with some of her friends about how mean, and nasty I am. I shouldn’t let it get to me, teenage children all go through this, but it just hurt.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. I know it hurts, and you have the right to cry. Drink some of this hot coco, it will help I promise.”
Memory Number Two,
“My dear is everything alright, you seem rather upset today.”
“Poppy and I got into a large fight last night. I told her she was pushing me away, and I didn’t know why. She said I was being too bothersome, and to stop. So I’ve stopped, and we aren’t speaking to each other. I just don’t understand what I did wrong.”
“Talk to her, Minerva. I’m sure she was just having a bad day, and didn’t mean it.”
“No I tried to talk to her this morning, and she ignored me. She meant it, and I guess I should just leave her alone. Hard though when a good friend pushes you away, you know?”
Memory Number Three,
“Albus, talk to me. You need to talk to someone about what happened between you and Harry, please.”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone, Minerva. I’m fine, but thank you. You worry too much, my dear, you always have.”
“I know”
Albus’ mind stopped on that memory, and he replayed it over and over in his head. He had done it to her too; why couldn’t he see she was just concerned. She had come out of her shell to help him, and he had pushed her away…discarded her.
‘No! I did not discard her. It just wasn’t the right time!’ Yet, Albus knew that no matter how many times he tried to lie to himself that he had done to her exactly as she described.
Lost in thought he never heard Minerva enter her office, until she dropped the pile of books she was carrying.
Quickly Albus turned around, the piece of parchment firmly within his hand.
“A-Albus, what do you….did you…have you…did you read that?” Minerva finally sputtered out afraid of what his answer would be. Albus merely nodded a reply.
Minerva closed her eyes against the sea of tears, and leaned her head back against the door.
“I just saw it, and when I got to reading it I just couldn’t stop. I’m sorry, Minerva.”
“I hope you will speak of that to no one, and please forget it yourself.” Minerva whispered to the ceiling.
“I can’t forget what I just read, Minerva.”
“Please, Albus. Just do this for me. Forget you read it, and that I wrote it. Just forget it!” Minerva was crying hard now, and in a fierce moment strode across the room and snatched the parchment out of Albus’ hand, flinging it into the fire.
“Forget it! Please, just leave.”
Albus’ heart acted before his brain, and before she knew it Minerva was being held; truly held: one hand was on the middle of her back, and the other was at the base of her skull holding her head to his chest.
In his weak attempts to make her feel better Albus said, “Its ok to care, Minerva. It’s ok.”
“I care too much, though. And many people don’t know it, but the ones who do just push me aside. I care too much, but I can’t stop.”
“I know, you have one of the biggest hearts I have ever come across. It is one reason I find you so captivating.”
Minerva moved her head from Albus’ chest in order to peer up at his eyes. Albus wouldn’t have needed to hear her cries after looking in her eyes to know that she was vulnerable. It was all right there, and he had to reach her before she shut herself off again. He broke down.
“I’m so sorry, Minerva. I never meant to discard you.”
“You never discarded me, Albus. You just always close up if I get too close.”
Albus quickly conjured a couch, and led Minerva to it. Never letting her go he settled them onto the couch, and began talking to her. It took Minerva a moment to realize he was starting to tell her about his life.
“You don’t have to do this Albus. When I get upset I just write my feelings out; I never meant for anyone to see what I wrote.”
“But I did see it, and I can’t forget that especially when I care for you so much. I just never knew exactly how to approach how I felt, and I’ve never been good at opening up to people; sometimes not even to myself.”
“So I care too much, and you can’t open up. What a pair we make.” Minerva commented dropping her head back down on Albus’ chest. It was a rather comfortable spot she thought.
“Yes, quite a pair.” Albus mumbled to himself. Both Minerva and Albus fell quiet, and soon fell asleep.
This was originally planned as a one-shot, but now I think I’ll continue it. I just wasn’t sure how to get them together like I want them, and I think it will take longer with how I went about it this time. ~Christy
Albus Dumbledore finished reading the tear stained parchment, and realized his hand was shaking and his cheeks were wet. Yet he couldn’t put the piece of parchment down; his eyes roamed over the words again and again. The sadness, nay in some parts despair, that echoed from the chaotic movement of the ink touched him deeply.
He was still standing by her desk, just standing there like an ancient Egyptian king represented in the immovable statues his countrymen made in his name. One hand gripped the parchment, while the other hung limply by his side.
Albus was lost in time and space. His mind raced through his memories of her, and there were many. So many from which to examine, and choose but he did not allow himself the luxury of examining the more pleasant memories. He was looking for evidence, or anything to tell him she was wrong. Never mind that these were her thoughts, and this her handwriting; she just had to be wrong.
Memory Number One,
“Minerva why are you crying?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Albus I didn’t know you were in here.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question, why are you crying?”
“It’s silly really, but oh alright. There is just this student I’ve been talking with outside of class. Her mother is ill, and I’m trying to be supportive…she looked like she could need it. And, well, I was on my way here when I overheard a conversation she was having with some of her friends about how mean, and nasty I am. I shouldn’t let it get to me, teenage children all go through this, but it just hurt.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. I know it hurts, and you have the right to cry. Drink some of this hot coco, it will help I promise.”
Memory Number Two,
“My dear is everything alright, you seem rather upset today.”
“Poppy and I got into a large fight last night. I told her she was pushing me away, and I didn’t know why. She said I was being too bothersome, and to stop. So I’ve stopped, and we aren’t speaking to each other. I just don’t understand what I did wrong.”
“Talk to her, Minerva. I’m sure she was just having a bad day, and didn’t mean it.”
“No I tried to talk to her this morning, and she ignored me. She meant it, and I guess I should just leave her alone. Hard though when a good friend pushes you away, you know?”
Memory Number Three,
“Albus, talk to me. You need to talk to someone about what happened between you and Harry, please.”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone, Minerva. I’m fine, but thank you. You worry too much, my dear, you always have.”
“I know”
Albus’ mind stopped on that memory, and he replayed it over and over in his head. He had done it to her too; why couldn’t he see she was just concerned. She had come out of her shell to help him, and he had pushed her away…discarded her.
‘No! I did not discard her. It just wasn’t the right time!’ Yet, Albus knew that no matter how many times he tried to lie to himself that he had done to her exactly as she described.
Lost in thought he never heard Minerva enter her office, until she dropped the pile of books she was carrying.
Quickly Albus turned around, the piece of parchment firmly within his hand.
“A-Albus, what do you….did you…have you…did you read that?” Minerva finally sputtered out afraid of what his answer would be. Albus merely nodded a reply.
Minerva closed her eyes against the sea of tears, and leaned her head back against the door.
“I just saw it, and when I got to reading it I just couldn’t stop. I’m sorry, Minerva.”
“I hope you will speak of that to no one, and please forget it yourself.” Minerva whispered to the ceiling.
“I can’t forget what I just read, Minerva.”
“Please, Albus. Just do this for me. Forget you read it, and that I wrote it. Just forget it!” Minerva was crying hard now, and in a fierce moment strode across the room and snatched the parchment out of Albus’ hand, flinging it into the fire.
“Forget it! Please, just leave.”
Albus’ heart acted before his brain, and before she knew it Minerva was being held; truly held: one hand was on the middle of her back, and the other was at the base of her skull holding her head to his chest.
In his weak attempts to make her feel better Albus said, “Its ok to care, Minerva. It’s ok.”
“I care too much, though. And many people don’t know it, but the ones who do just push me aside. I care too much, but I can’t stop.”
“I know, you have one of the biggest hearts I have ever come across. It is one reason I find you so captivating.”
Minerva moved her head from Albus’ chest in order to peer up at his eyes. Albus wouldn’t have needed to hear her cries after looking in her eyes to know that she was vulnerable. It was all right there, and he had to reach her before she shut herself off again. He broke down.
“I’m so sorry, Minerva. I never meant to discard you.”
“You never discarded me, Albus. You just always close up if I get too close.”
Albus quickly conjured a couch, and led Minerva to it. Never letting her go he settled them onto the couch, and began talking to her. It took Minerva a moment to realize he was starting to tell her about his life.
“You don’t have to do this Albus. When I get upset I just write my feelings out; I never meant for anyone to see what I wrote.”
“But I did see it, and I can’t forget that especially when I care for you so much. I just never knew exactly how to approach how I felt, and I’ve never been good at opening up to people; sometimes not even to myself.”
“So I care too much, and you can’t open up. What a pair we make.” Minerva commented dropping her head back down on Albus’ chest. It was a rather comfortable spot she thought.
“Yes, quite a pair.” Albus mumbled to himself. Both Minerva and Albus fell quiet, and soon fell asleep.
This was originally planned as a one-shot, but now I think I’ll continue it. I just wasn’t sure how to get them together like I want them, and I think it will take longer with how I went about it this time. ~Christy
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