If I were a painter

Summary: Love grows from love, and then diminishes, but only if you let it.
Category: Poetry, Romance
Season: future Season
Pairing: Jack/Sam, other pairing
Rating: PG
Warnings: adult themes
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Archived on: 10/20/03

Title: If I were a painter
Author: Athena.
Email: atheniandream@aol.com
Content Warnings: General, Romance and a Lil' Humour Pairings: SJ
Spoilers: Umm, no?
Season: Seven
Rating: PG.
Summary: Love grows from love, and then diminishes, but only if you let it. Author's notes: Its beta'd!!! Several times... Archive: Anywhere. I'm my own publicist. Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. I know this.

If I were a Painter.

If I were a painter,
I would paint the face of heaven so fine, That all angels would sit upon that golden shrine, And whisper only of it's grace,
And lack lustre in the face of cherubs, who dare to fly above its ember and embrace, To dream a dream of wonderers, sleepers, and sacred saints, Between flickered forests, into the moon I will sail, From a kitten's mouth, gliding along its tail, I will weep Of the beauty at my hands reach,
As it steals away my sight, and banishes my speech. If only I were a painter...

The view of two people standing along the edge of a river was supposed to be a beautiful one. Full of hope and promise, romance and chances. Written like poetry as the paving lamps danced around them in the moonlight and the cold air, creating crisp and watchful audiences to gasp tenderly at their actions.

But it wasn't, not beautiful view, anyway. Nor Poetic, nor any that dared to stand remembered. And the audience wasn't the same; because the chosen pair were fighting; their impassioned, angry faces squinting at each other through the moonlight, as hands and arms fought for control of the situation.

And gone unnoticed, as per usual, was a man. Sitting quietly near a table outside a bar, sipping at the beverage, which had been placed in his hand previously, as the distant sound of Jazz played from inside. He frowned for the couple. They appeared to have the greatest amount of passion bursting to fly between them, and it made him sad for a while. It had been so long since complication had arisen in that form, and tumbled him to the floor in the process, as it had done in the past. But he missed that.

Missing that emotion and constant fluctuation of feeling for another human being sank at his heart for a second, digging it into a place where it had spent such along time drowning it's sorrows years before. It is know that the pain can keep you going, and soothe to drive you through life's toughest situations and remind you that there are more important things at stake; like the people around you, and how you don't appreciate them when they're gone. It had him in the life that he was currently leading.

"Jack?"

But the life that he was leading was far from imperfect, quite the contrary.

Hearing the voice near to him as it accompanied the person on the bench, a small smile formed as he felt a warm heat on the back of him neck.

"Look at them." He whispered, turning his gaze to the friendly face behind, and then back to the couple. "I miss that."

"The Fighting?"

"No!" He quietly scolded, "That heated passion. You know, when you're so angry and yet incredibly...?"

"What?"

"Frustrated."

The face behind frowned a little; and then a smile curved sensuously along the smooth hair on his nape, causing him to shiver quietly. "Are you saying we have no passion?"

"Yea, we do. Just more comfortable passion now." His hands snaked around the back of the figure pressed against him, as a head rested on his shoulder an sighed at the view he was so interested in.

He was right. The passion had changed, as it does and has done with every couple. I doesn't necessarily diminish, as much as mutates kindly, into respect and love, and being comfortable with one another. But first rate passion will always be missed, because it fuels a relationship to start with, and it never really burns out...it just lingers a little more than it used to...

Contemplating his point, the voice behind mumbled close to his ear, in a very low grinding voice. "When we get home, you want me to moan about you leaving the toilet seat up?"

"Carter, I don't do that." He stated plainly, with no fringe on top.

"But I could get really angry?" Came a very suggestive reply, as well as a slight dig in the back of his ribs.

"I love you."

"Good. I was getting a little worried." She kissed his temple and then quickly rummaged in her pocket, placing a Twenty next to the two glasses. "Let's go."

Jack hesitated for a second, in seeing the girl, who had walked away from the man, as she stopped. He caught up with her and tied her into an embrace that she didn't move from, and yet didn't ease into. Pain had been shed and blood spilt. And no doubt, the emotional wounds would refuse to go away, appearing later in another heated argument. Shame, he thought. You don't realise how much of life you spent fighting, when it's too late to gain those moments back from the tide of time....

If only I were a painter...

For I would paint the lovers in the stars, And see them in their glorified embrace, Banish those emotionless demons to mars, If only to hide them from love's rosy, exotically impassioned face...

If only I were a painter...

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