Who We Were
His hands, calloused, harsh, demanding, and grubby ran over my dark skin.
I loved him, love him, will love him to the end of eternity.
I will take him to his goal through trial and hardship, even to the end of the world as we know it.
He is who he is, and that is why I devoted all my heart, soul, and entity to being near him.
I moaned a little under his touch
"Ahhh…give me that horizon"
I smiled, the crashing waves refreshing me.
I remember him…and how things were.
He first saw me in Singapore, rocking in the waves; it was love at first sight.
We stole away in the dead of night to find what every man longs for, freedom.
Sometimes I watch him in his sleep; after all, I'm not going anywhere.
Despite his heinous acts, he's surprisingly guiltless in his sleep, always muttering about the nunnery burning or treasure.
But before his soul died, mostly about me.
I don't mean to brag, but I don't blame him, I'm beautiful. The sky over me compliments my sleek body, the endless horizon is my domain, and I am more pirate than Captain Sparrow!
He loved me more than life itself, well, most of the time.
After all, he is a pirate.
Sometimes I was stolen, but he always reclaimed me.
Sometimes he left me, but I understood.
I would die a thousand times over before I saw the captain sink the crushing oblivion of Davy Jones Locker.
Damn, I love him.
He laughed, a black storm rushing upon us, filling the sails with a withering wind.
He loved me, I love him.
Sometimes he brought a wench back.
I didn't mind
He loved ME!
We were, even if we were to die, then we would still love each other.
Life was perfect.
And then, something started happening, strange THINGS came.
They were creepy wenches too good to be true.
Luminous eyes that were abnormally large.
Humongous bosoms (I have no idea how they stood with the added weight) and waists that were clearly unnatural.
Ridiculous amount of skill
Always joining the crew.
And MY Jack said he loved them.
He often killed for them, he laughed with them and, he sang for them.
He never sung to anyone before, unless he was drunk.
It broke my heart.
For the longest time I was dead, I was a form, nothing but a shell.
There was nothing left, now he didn't care for me, steering me, loving me.
Now he used me. And my form was left, but my spirit fled, I dwelt in the memory of the past, of narrow escapes and daring adventures.
He no longer cared for a horizon.
He was brainwashed, no longer himself.
They made him an empty skin.
He was not anything.
To them he is cheekbones and infinite eyes.
To them he is a bronzed chest, and silky lips.
They notice the oddest things.
They never sigh over his hands, strong, hard, and crafty.
Never over his golden teeth.
Never over his pock-marked skin or his boots.
Never over his hat.
Now, he is only a body.
Who Jack Sparrow used to be was the wide blue sky.
He used to be the horizon; he used to be laughter and audacious escapes.
He was worn leather and sharp swords.
Empty corners of the map and the salty sea air on a sunny day
He was the blisters from bar tables and harsh winds.
He was roughened skin and foreign beads.
He was tart rum and starry nights.
Jack was freedom.
Now, he is no longer Captain Jack Sparrow, now he suddenly has a wretched past and a desire for true love.
He killed me, he's not Jack!
He's nothing anymore, a device for their own pleasure.
Jack didn't kill me, they killed us.
Now, I am as good as dead.
Worthless, no good.
And I wonder why I even dared to hope that Captain Sparrow would be respected as who he IS, not what he looks like, or how he acts.
And I wish that things could be reversed, so that these awful beings would see what a luscious soul he has. How utterly complete a man can be.
And see his faults, and love them, not hate them or change him.
To embrace him if he was old and decrypted, to love the sea as he does.
To love him, who he is in his innermost soul, as I do.
Not what they have made him.
But nothing can stop them; I lay in the docks, rotting away, remembering his youthful face, how he ran his hands over me for the first time saying:
"I'll call you The Black Pearl"
And remembering when we were in love.
I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. I want to say: I am not saying that fangirls are bad, just that most can't look past Jack's eyes (which are yummy). Oh, and the accursed wenches are Mary Sues.