Well, this is a little bit different to my usual Riane get-together stuff... just wanted to try something different. And, of course, the song is "When", by Shania (from the Come On Over album, which I re-purchased today... Sammie knows what happened to the last one!)

*~*~*

If elephants could fly I'd be a little more optimistic
But I don't see that happening anytime soon
I don't mean to sound so pessimistic
But I don't think that cow really jumped over the moon

She sank to the floor, sobbing. She hadn’t cried like that since she’d been a child, a little girl, vulnerable and defenceless, all alone in the big wide world. And now, although she wasn’t a child any more, she was alone again. She had been safe recently, safe whilst she was with him. She had never felt safe in her life before. She was always looking over her shoulder, terrified that someone would find out her secrets, afraid that she might be ridiculed, teased, bullied, like she was at school, just for being ‘clever’. A label that haunted her forever, that forced her to try hard, to want to be brilliant. And then she finished school, university; she’d done everything perfectly. Her life was all planned out – school, uni, get a good job. Then, she wanted to be better and better at her job, she wanted promotions, she didn’t want a family. She wanted a career. But then she fell in love, and she was just starting to come around to the idea that maybe, just maybe, her plans weren’t set in stone. But he wanted too much, too soon. Her life hadn’t prepared her for this – all she was good at was her job. Spontaneity had never been her thing. She couldn’t let anything happen to her carefully made plans, the plans she had made at the age of fourteen. But she never believed how much it could hurt, just trying to keep to her plans. And now… she wanted to call him back, to cry out, get him to notice her. But it was better this way, she thought. But how could something that’s good for her hurt so much?

When will I wake up?
Why did we break up?
When will we make up?

He stared at the closed door numbly. He couldn’t believe it… she’d finished it. It had been so sudden; he had had no inkling that she wasn’t happy. He had been happy, and had naively assumed that she was too. He loved her, always had done, and always would do. He couldn’t believe that she didn’t feel the same. He had been so sure that she loved him. The way she looked at him, there was love in the look, certainly. She had told him, time and time again, said those three words that meant so much more than he ever believed that they could. “I love you.” Before he met her, he’d always wondered how one sentence, made up of an object, a subject, and a verb, could possibly give people such amazing feelings. But suddenly, the first time he heard those words, when he was the object and she was the subject, when the verb connected them, he instantly knew. He would never have thought that he was a romantic, never. But when he met her, when he fell in love, it was all he could do not to shout it out to the world, not to surprise her every day with flowers and chocolates and everything else that they sold during the middle of February. How could all he had ever wanted, all he believed, suddenly be taken away from him?

When money grows on trees
People live in peace
Everyone agrees
When happiness is free
Love can guarantee
You'll come back to me -- that's when

She eventually dragged herself away from the door. She went through the motions of living, washing her face, trying to eat something, then collapsing in front of the TV. But it was entirely wrong… the last time she’d watched TV, she had been snuggled in his arms. The last time she had eaten, it had been sitting across from him, at the table in the canteen, a cold meal of pizza and chips, disgusting but he made it all better. He made everything better. And now he was gone – it was her fault, but that didn’t make her feel good. On the contrary, it made her feel worse. Sick to her stomach, guilty. She had hurt herself and she had hurt him. She could handle it, she thought, but she knew that she would have to see him, see him every single day, act as if nothing had happened, because she was a professional woman. She was good at her job, and nothing could stop that. If she left her job, if she gave up, then people would suffer. But if she stayed… then she would suffer. She would suffer so much, seeing him every day, knowing what she had had, and had given up. Thrown away as though it meant nothing to her. Nothing would ever be the same again.

I'd love to wake up smiling -- full of the joys of spring
And hear on CNN that Elvis lives again
And that John's back with the Beatles and they're goin' out on tour
I'll be the first in line for tickets -- gotta see that show for sure

When he went to bed, the bed was so lonely. He had got used to being alone, but that was before he met her, before they fell in love. Because they had been in love, he insisted. Nothing could ever change that. But that didn’t make the lonely bed feel any better. He used to complain that she took up too much space, but now he realised that he needed that. He couldn’t sleep without her. He needed to feel her in his arms as he fell asleep. He needed to have her there whilst he was sleeping. It had been so long since he had slept without her… or without knowing that he would see her the following day. Even when she wasn’t there, he always had his dreams. Dreams of being with her, of taking her in his arms. Dreams of the future even… he wanted to marry her, he wanted them to have children, to grow old together. He was sure that even when she was old, she would be beautiful. He could see her now, in his mind’s eye, he could see her crying. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that it would all be fine. But she didn’t want it to be. She didn’t want his dreams. And now, when he couldn’t dream, he had nothing.

When will I wake up?
Why did we break up?
When will we make up?

She turned away from the window. She wouldn’t see him; he wasn’t there. He would never be there again, she thought, wistfully. She remembered the first time that she had seen him coming down that path – the night of their first date. She had been so nervous, all dressed up, lipstick and heels, unlike her usual jeans and shirt ensemble. She had been watching the path from her bedroom window, sitting there almost an hour before he was due to turn up, terrified that he might have forgotten, or that she would have dreamt it all. She had been panicking so much that when she saw him, walking casually down the driveway, she had laughed. She had rushed down the stairs, fell headfirst, and landed in a heap at his feet. They had laughed – it had set the tone for their relationship, they always said. And it had… they had always been laughing. Sometimes they would be at work, he would make a comment that she found funny, and she would have to choke back her giggles, because it was unprofessional. But she didn’t even mind that. How could she have suddenly been so devoted to her work that she would give up the love of her life, her first love? Because now, given a chance, she would take him back in a heartbeat. But she wasn’t going to be given a chance.

When money grows on trees
People live in peace
Everyone agrees
When happiness is free
Love can guarantee
You'll come back to me -- that's when

He sighed as he pulled into the car park. He didn’t see her car. Maybe he wouldn’t ever see her car again. Suddenly, he would have given anything to see that car, the car he had always told her was messy and battered and a disgrace. But would it be better not to see the car? Because seeing the car would mean that she was here. And he couldn’t handle seeing her. He loved her, but he hated her for what she had done to him. But he loved her. Oh, how he loved her. And it seemed like an eternity before they next saw each other. He walked into the office one day, and saw her sitting in his chair.

When will I wake up?
Why did we break up?
When will we make up?

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, he didn’t know what to say. She hugged him, and slipped a note into his pocket. She had agonised over the wording for hours; she had wanted it to be perfect. But then she realised – it didn’t matter how imperfect it was. It would never make up for what she had done, but it was a partial apology. A partial apology, and a partial acknowledgement of her feelings. He didn’t read the note until much later. The following morning, it was. He found a piece of paper in his pocket, and opened it curiously. It was written in her handwriting.

Ric,

Don’t stop dreaming.

Diane

When money grows on trees
People live in peace
Everyone agrees
When happiness is free
Love can guarantee
You'll come back to me -- that's when

*~*~*

I'm actually quite happy with this one! I think I like it, even. Maybe it's not the happiest thing I've ever written (okay, understatement!), but still...