Bella And Edward

It's just you. Forever.


Sich verlier'n heißt sich befrei'n, du wirst mich in dir erkennen. Was du erträumst wird Wahrheit sein, nichts und niemand kann uns trennen. Tauch mit mir in die Dunkelheit ein, zwischen Schatten und Schein verbrennen wir die Zweifel und vergessen die Zeit, ich hüll dich ein in meinen Schatten und Trag dich weit.



Du bist das Wunder, das mit der Wirklichkeit versöhnt. Mein Herz ist Dynamit, das einen Funken ersehnt. Wir sind zum Leben erwacht, die Ewigkeit beginnt heut' Nacht. Die Ewigkeit beginnt heut' Nacht.


Ein Raum ohne Bücher...


                      
                             
...ist wie ein Körper ohne Seele.


Eigentlich hatte ich ja vor, hier selber etwas über Bücher und deren Faszination zu schreiben, denn Bücher und vor allem das Lesen von diesen, sind ein wichtiger Teil meines Lebens, den ich nie missen wollen würde. Aber dann habe ich folgenden Text gefunden, der meine Beziehung zu Büchern so treffend und auf eine so schöne, poetische und gelungene Art und Weise beschreibt, dass ich mich entschlossen habe, ihn an dieser Stelle, anstatt eines Versuches meinerseits das selbe auszudrücken, abzudrucken:

Ah, the absolute amazing-ness
Of books, books, books.
Books tell stories.
Books record facts.
Books relate history
And how to make snacks.

They come in many a shape and size,
These books, books, books.
Books can be fat.
Books can be tall.
Books can be skinny,
And books can be small.

Oh, the many things you find
When you look in a book, book, book.
There are books about London.
There are books about space.
There are books about cartoons
And even how to race.

You can find a story about anything
In a book, book, book.
About a family and children,
About wizards and witches,
About sadness and sorrow,
Or about little fishes.

Unless you were born knowing,
History is learned from a book, book, book.
You lean battles.
You learn dates.
You learn cultures
And once living greats.

Suppose you want to make a snack, what to do?
Look in a book, book, book.
Books help make cookies.
Book help make cakes.
Books help make snow ice cream
And even chocolate crepe.

Oh the multitude of authors
Who write books, books, books:
Avi, Duncan, Keene, Babbit,
Cooney, Carroll, Baum, Tolkien,
Mitchell, Lewis, Lee, Homer,
Cleary, Steinbeck, Pierce, Rowling.

Oh how much time you can spend
Reading books, books, books.
Oh how many books there are
To read, read, read.
I’m done. I must go now
To my books, books, books.

(c) SaturnsRevolution, DeviantArt

(Photo kommt noch, s.o.) 


"Es ist mit dem Lesen wie mit jedem anderen Genusse: er wird stets desto tiefer und nachhaltiger sein, je inniger und liebevoller wir uns ihm hingeben. Man muß seine Bücher als Freunde und Lieblinge behandeln, jedes in seiner Eigenart schätzen und nichts von ihm verlangen, was dieser Eigenart fremd ist." (Hermann Hesse)

Ich könnte hier jetzt eine Liste meiner Lieblingsbücher anfertigen. Ich könnte sie nach Themen, oder Erscheinugsjahr oder alphabetisch ordnen. Ich könnte sogar ein Ranking all dieser Bücher erstellen und es hier veröffentlichen.
Doch all dieses werde ich nicht tun. Denn das Problem ist: es gibt einfach zu viele Bücher, die ich gerne lese und es kommen immernoch welche dazu und manche verschwinden auch wieder von der Liste. Aus diesem Grund habe ich beschlossen hier eine Passage aus einem Buch reinzustellen, die zu meinen liebsten überhaupt gehört und die mir zudem sehr viel bedeutet - es handelt sich um S. 66 - 93 aus 'New Moon' von Stephenie Meyer.
(Ihr könnt jetzt von mir denken, was ihr wollt, aber meines Erachtens sind ihre Bücher gut. Außerdem habe ich die TwilightSaga von Anfang an und auf Englisch gelesen und nicht erst seit dieses Robert Pattinson-Hypes. Also, spart euch die Kommentare (; )

Ich weiß, der Auszug ist lang, und das wird sich sowieso keiner hier durchlesen, aber egal:

(...) After school, Edward and I were going to talk it out, I promised myself. I wasn't accepting any excuses.
 He walked me to my truck, and I steeled myself to make my demands.
 "Do you mind, if I come over today?" he asked before we got to the truck, beating me to the punch.
 "Of course not."
 "Now?" he asked again, opening my door for me.
 "Sure," I kept my voice even, though I didn't like the urgency in his tone. "I was just going to drop a letter for Renee in the mailbox on the way. I'll meet you there."
 He looked at the fat envelope on thepassenger seat. Suddenly he reached over me and snagged it.
 I'll do it," he said quietly. "And I'll still beat you there." He smiled my favourite crooked smile, but it was wrong. It didn't reach his eyes.
 "Okay," I agreed, unable to smile back. He shut the door and headed toward his car.
 He did beat me home. He was parked in Charlie's spot when I pulled up in front of the house. That was a bad sign. He didn't plan to stay, then. I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to locate some courage.
 He got out of his car, when I stepped ou of the truck, and came to meet me. He reached to take my book bag from me. That was normal. But he shoved it back onto the seat. That was not normal.
 "Come for a walk with me," he sugested in an unemotional voice, taking my hand.
 I didn't answer. I couldn't think of a way to protest, but I instantly knew that I wanted to. I didn't like this. This is bad, this is very bad the voice in my head repeated again and again.
 But he didn't wait for an answer. He pulled me alongt toward the east side of the yard, where the forest encroached. I followed unwillingly, trying to think through the panic. It was that what I wanted, I reminded myself. The chance to talk it all through. So why was the panic choking me?
 We'd gone only a few steps into the trees when he stopped. We were barely on the trail - I could still see the house.
 Some walk.
 Edward leaned against a tree an stared at me, his expression unreadable.
 "Okay, let's talk," I said. It sounded braver than it felt.
 He took a deep breath.
 "Bella, we're leaving."
 I took a deep breath, too. This was an acceptable option. I thought I was prepared. But I still had to ask.
 "Why now? Another year - "
 "Bella, it's time. How much longer could we stay in Forks, after all? Carlisle can barely pass for thrity, and he's claiming thirty-three now. We'd have to start over soon regardless."
 His answer confused me. I thought the point of leaving was to let his family live in peace. Why did we have to leave if they were going? I stared at him, trying to understand what he meant.
 He stared back coldly.
 With a roll of nausea, I realized I'd missunderstood.
 "When you say we - ," I whispered.
 "I mean my family and myself." Each word seperate and distinct.
 I shook my had back and forth mechanically, trying to clear it. He waited without any sign of impatience. It took a few minutes before I could speak.
 "Okay," I said. "I'll come with you."
 "You can't, Bella. Where we're going ... It's not the right place for you."
 "Where you are is the right place for me."
 "I'm no good for you, Bella."
 "Don't be rididculous." I wanted to sound angry, but it just sounded like I was begging. "You're the very best part of my life."
 "My world is not for you," he said grimly.
 "What happened with Jasper - that was nothong, Edward! Nothing!"
 "You're right," he agreed. "It was exactly what was to be expected."
 "You promised! In Phoenix, you promised that you would stay -"
 "As long as that was the best for you," he interrupted to correct me.
 "No! Thisis about my soul, isn't it?" I shouted furious, the words exploding out of me - somehow it still sounded like a plea. "Carlisle told me about that, and I don't care! You can have my soul. I don't want it without you - it's  yours already!"
 He took a deep breath and stared, unseeingly, at the ground for a long moment. His mouth twisted the tiniest bit. When he finally looked up, his eyes were different, harder - like this liquid gold had frozen solid.
 "Bella, I don't want you to come with me." He spoke the words slowly and precisely, his cold eyes on my face, watching as I absorbed what he was really saying.
 There was a pause as I repeated the words in my head a few times, sifting through them for their real intent.
 "You ... don't ... want me?" I tried out the words, confused by the way they sounded, placed in that order.
 "No."
 I stared, uncomprehending, into his eyes. He stared back without apology. His eyes were like topaz - hard and clear and very deep. It felt like I could see into them for miles and miles, yet nowhere in their bottomless dephts could I see a contradiction to the word he'd spoken.
 "Well, that changes things." I was surprised by how calm and reasonable my voice sounded. It must be because I was so numb. I couldn't realize what he was telling me. It still didn't make any sense.
 He looked away into the trees as he spoke again. "Of course, I'll always love ... in a way. But what happened the other night made me realize that it's time for a change. Because I'm ... tired of pretending to be something I'm not, Bella. I am not human. "He looked back, and the icy planes of his perfect face were not human. "I've let this go on much too long, and I'm sorry for that."
 "Don't." My voice was just a whisper now; awareness was beginning to seep through me, trckling like acid through my veins. "Don't do this."
 He just stared at me, and I could see from his eyes that my words were far too late. He already had.
 "You're not good for me, Bella." He turned his earlier words around, and so I had no argument. How well I knew that I wasn't good enough for him.
 I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He waited patiently, his face wiped clean of all emotion. I tried again.
 "If ... that's what you want."
 He nodded once.
 My whole body went numb. I couldn't feel anything belwo the neck. 
 "I would like to ask you one favor, though, if that's not too much," he said.
 I wonder what he saw on my face, because something flickererd across his own face in response. But, before I could identify it, he'd composed his features into the same serene mask.
 "Anything," I woved, my voice faintly stronger.
 As I watched, his frozen eyes melted. The gold became liquid again, molten, burning down into mine with an intensity that was overwhelming.
 "Don't do anything reckless or stupid," he ordered, no longer detached. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
 I nodded helplessly.
 His eyes cooled, the distance returned. "I'm thinking of Charlie, of course. He needs you. Take care of yourself - for him."
 I nodded again. "I will," I whispered.
 He seemed to relax just a little.
 "And I'll make you a promise in return," he said. "I promise that this will be the last time you'll see me. I won't come back. I won't put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I'd never existed."
 My knee must have started to shake, because the trees were suddenly wobbling. I could hear the blood pounding faster than normal behind my ears. His voice sounded farther away.
 He smiled gently. "Don't worry. You're human - your memory is no more than a sieve. Time heals all wounds for your kind.
 "And your memories?" I asked. It sounded like there was something stuck in my throat, like I was choking.
 "Well" - he hesitated for a short second - "I won't forget. But my kind ... we're very easily distracted." He smiled; the smile was tranquil and did not touch his eyes.
 He took a step away from me. "That's everything, I suppose. We won't bother you again."
 The plural caught my attention. That surprised me; I would have thought that I was beyond noticing anything.
 "Alice isn't coming back," I realized. I don't knwo how he heard me - the words made no sound - but he seemed to understand.
 He shook his head slowsly, always watching my face.
 "No. They're all gone. I stayed behind to tell you goodbye."
 "Alice is gone?" My voice was blank with disbelief.
 "She wanted to say goodbye, but I convinced her that a clean break would be better for you."
 "I was dizzy; it was hard to concentrate. His words swirled around in my head, and I heard the doctor at the hospital in Phoenix, last spring, as he showed me the X-rays. You can see it's a clean break, his finger traced along the picture of my severed bone. That's good. It will heal more easily, more quickly.
 I tried to breath normally. I needed to concentrate, to find a way out of this nightmare.
 "Goodbye, Bella," he said in the same quiet, peaceful voice.
 "Wait!" I choked out the word, reaching for him, willing my deadened legs to carry me forward.
 I thought he was reaching fo rme , too. But his cold hands locked around my wrists and pinned them to my sides. He leaned down, and pressed his lips very lightly to my forehead for the briefest instant. My eyes closed.
 "Take care of yourself," he breathed, cool against my skin.
 There was a light, unnatural breeze. My eyes flashed open. The leaves on a small vine maple shuddered with the gentle wind of his passage.
 He was gone.
 With shaky legs, ignoring the fact that my action was useless, I followed him into the forest. The evidence of his path had disappeared instantly. There were no footprints, the leaves were still again, but I walked forward without thinking. I could not do anything else. I had too keep moving. If I stopped looking for him, it was over.
 
Love, life, meaning ... over.
 I walked and walked. Time made no sense as I pushed slowly through the thick undergrowth. It was hours passing, but also only sefconds. Maybe it felt like time had frozen because the forest looked the same no matter how far I went. I started to worry that I was traveling in a circle, a very small circle at that, but I kept going. I stumpled often, and, as it grew darker and darker, I fell often, too.
 Finally, I tripped over something - it was black now, I had no idea what caught my foot - and I stayed down. I rolled onto my side, so that I could breathe, and curled up on the wet bracken.
 As I lay there, I had a feeling that more time was passing tha I realized. I couldn't remember how long it had been since nightfall. Was it always so dark here at night? Surely, as a rule, some little bit of moonlight would filter down through the clouds, through the chinks in the canopy of trees, and find the ground.
 Not tonight. The sky was utterly black. Perhaps there was no moon tonight - a lunar eclipse, a new moon.
 A new moon. I shivered, though I wasn't cold.
(...)
 Agony ripped through me with the memory of his face.
 "I want to know if Edward left you alone out there in the middle of the woods," Charlie insisted.
 His name sent another wave of torture through me. I shook my head, frantic, deperate to escape the pain. "It was my fault. He left me right here on the trail, in sight of the house ... but I tried to follow him."
 Charlie started to say something; childishly, I covered my ears. " I can't talk about this anymore, Dad. I want to go to my room."
 Before he could answer, I scrambled up from the couch and lurched my way up the stairs.
 Someone had been in the house to leave a note for Charlie, a note that would lead him to find me. From the minute that I'd realized this, a horrible suspicion began to grow in my head. I rushed to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me before I ran to the CD player by my bed.
 Everything looked exactly the same as I'd left it. I pressed down on the top of the CD player. The latch unhooked, and the lid slowly swung open.
 It was empty.
 The album Rene had given me sat on the floor beside the bed, just where I'd put it last. I lifted the cover with a shaking hand.
 I didn't have to flip any farther than the first page. The little metal corners no longer held a picture in place.The page was blank except for my own handwriting scrawled across the bottom : Edward Cullen, Charlie's kitchen, Sept. 13th.
 I stopped there. I was sure that he would have been very thorough.
 It will be as if I'd never existed, he'd promised me.
 I felt the smooth wooden floor beneath my knees, and then the palms of my hands, and then it was pressed against the skin of my cheek. I hoped that I was fainting, but, to my disappointment, I didn't loose consciousness. The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before were now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under.
 I did not resurface.

October

November

December

January

4. WAKING UP
Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me. (...)

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