A Poem For Emily (In Another Life)

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Emily, a name that rings out to my ears.

Emily, a word that describes the years.

Emily, a girl that I fell in love with

And cannot fall out of it.

Our life together is beautiful.

Our life together is perfect, ideal even.

But in another life… nothing can save us.

 

In another life she is sadden, all the time.

In another life she cannot be happy, for no one can.

In another life she is wealthy, as she is in this one.

In another life I am her personal servant.

 

How do I know these things?

Why, I asked of course.

 

In another life it rains all the time.

Thunderstorms over the horizon.

In another life we live in a beach house.

Looking out over the water, the view is clear as day.

Even if my sights are obscured by raindrops.

In another life I am she, and she is me.

I am the doll that was created by a desperate father.

She is the girl who took me in and cared for me.

 

In another life and in this one I am in love with her.

Madly in love.

In another life even if I am but a lowly servant to her I will not stop loving her.

In another life she has three beautiful children.

In this one she has none.

It would be impossible you see for she is a doll.

In another life the man she had her children with left her for another.

A pretty blonde who is ultimately, out on her luck.

 

I know this because I asked.

 

In another life I stand idly by as she cries into her pillow at night.

I cannot offer comfort for I am just a “machine”.

I listen to her soft sobs as she longs for someone to love her as she would them.

She does not know that I would for I have never spoken of it.

In another life I watch as her children become older, independent… further away from her.

They move away as most children do. She is sadder still.

They never questioned why she was sad all the time for she never let them know.

In another life she is a talented actress and a deceitful liar.

But she cannot hide anything from me.

 

One night I go to her and tell her how I feel.

I tell her I love her and never want to be without her.

She laughs and tells me it would never work.

“A doll and a human? How do you even know what love feels like?”

In another life I am deterred by this but keep pressing until finally she demands I get out of her room.

I leave feeling defeated but I never let her know.

 

In the days following I accompany her everywhere and when she meets another guy, I feel no envy.

As the days fly past, as they do so calculating when time is short she tells me she loves him.

“And the wedding will be sometime in the spring. Oh, aren’t you happy for me?”

In another life I hear this and force myself to smile and look in her eyes.

Yes, I am happy for her. Yes I would love to attend the wedding… but no, my love was never artificial.

I will sit idly by watching the wedding… I suppose I will continue to do so ever after.

For apparently, that is the only thing I can do.

 

In another life, a week before the wedding she is standing on her balcony, singing.

She looks beautiful in her powder blue nightgown. Too beautiful for her fiancé.

I recognize the song she is singing, ever so softly. It makes something inside of me snap.

She heard me approach and turns around smiling. Soon the smile fades.

In another life I would not have done this… But this is the other life separated by a thin line of fabrical space.

 

How do I know?

I asked of course.

 

In another life I push her over the balcony, smiling devilishly and I her the splat of her lovely body.

In another life I snap back and realize what I have done to the love of my life.

In another life I whisper her name and step off the balcony following her fate.

In another life nothing goes black for I am the doll and she is the human.

In another life I lay staring into her dead eyes until they find us.

Soon they will shut me down and have a grand funeral for her. I am only sad I cannot attend it.

But that is another life.

 

You ask me how I know and I suppose I haven’t been fully truthful with you.

I know because I’ve seen it with my own eyes…

 

And I asked of course.

 

 

This poem was “written” by Breon March, Emily Van Doth’s lover and ultimately her fool. Emily and Breon are sims created by me, Iomai.

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