Memories. [1/1]
A/N: Once again, I have proved my ability to firmly 'go off on one'. I didn't actually intend on writing this, it just... happened. Don't repost without my permission.
Enjoy.
In the year of our lord 2012.
Lindsey Ann Way
(1979-2008)
Loving wife and daughter.
Always in our hearts.
He looks up, staring brokenly at the sunrise whilst the morning dew settles slowly at his feet. Staring off into the distance, his eyes only for her at this moment, he loses himself in time.
He remembers her, the smile that was kept only for him, the small moments of life parading before him as he wonders where she is. He longs to see her again, to feel the warmth of her touch, the smile that lingers in her eyes even after she forgets the cause of it, but he knows. He knows it will never be once again.
It was her time, he knows that, but he can't help wondering if he would have been different had she still been here. She taught him to see life as it was, to take the good moments and savour them, and to take the bad moments and handle them with as much dignity as he could muster. She taught him to love, a skill which is nowadays so rare, as it walks hand in hand with the art of respect. She teaches him, even now. He can hear her, admiring what a wonderful man he's become, how respectful and kind he is without her.
She is proud of him.
But no, how can he ever know that? She's gone, now and forever. He can hear her now, reprimanding him for being so fanciful, and allows himself an absent-minded smile as he remembers. He knows he shouldn't, that he's just making it harder for himself, but for a moment, a fleeting second, he feels alive, and it's the first time in years.
His body wakes from its cold slumber, his muscles warming as they work, as they carry him forwards, skimming his feet over the delicate grass. He's almost floating, the fingers of his left hand grazing gently along the weathered surface of the cemetery wall as the dappled sunlight falls in shafts through the branches above, glinting off the narrow metal band on his fourth finger.
His eyes see it, and his logical brain wonders why it's still there, but his heart, his soul shout back, screaming excuses of a love lost. He is in suspension between intelligence and incompetence. He must let go, but it's so hard. How can someone let go, when it was their world they lost?
His feet slow, their strides becoming smaller as he glides tentatively out into the morning light, his hands pulling the rusted iron gate closed behind him. He's leaving the graveyard behind him, physically and mentally, at least for now.
He likes this place, this empty wasteland of knee-high grass. It reminds him of summer, even on the coldest of winter mornings when you catch a chill of breathing. It's simple, and yet so complex, beautiful and calm. It reminds him of her, of them. A beautiful analogy, he thinks, only it's a shame she can't be there to hear it.
He treads through his surroundings, mind numbing out reality. He stops, realising that he's doing it again. He's living like she's by his shoulder, whispering love and wisdom in his ear still.
He needs to let go. These memories are killing him.
So why does it seem so pleasant, he asks. His mind rushes, showing him all the reasons not to let them take him- his parents, his brother, the band, the fans- but still, it's not enough for him. All he sees is her. It surrounds him, consumes him, this creature called love that people dream of. It can't let go. It controls him.
He wanders across the grass, his eyes seeing nothing, closed against the vibrancy of a life, of their life, of their possible life. He sees it, still, and it kills him. Memories are dangerous things when used as trophies in a game of fate, especially in the hands of emotions.
His eyes open, pupils small and muscles still, and any observer would find nothing in them but pigment, any hint of a soul removed by the battle raging in his heart. He fights this beast, unseeing and unknowing to anything but the march, and slowly, ever so slowly, he wins.
He starts, awoken from his daydream, wondering if this is how its going to happen from now on.
He refuses to let it go on like this. Memories are killing him, and he knows it's selfish to think otherwise. He thinks of his family, his friends and his fans, and smiles. He slides the wedding band off, tossing it into the long grass before him. He needs to let go, to choose between life and love.
He has his answer.
A/N: ConCrit would be lovely, but any comments are welcome. If you're confused, ask. =]
Oh, and P.S. Lyn-Z is not actually dead in real life. She is dead in this story, because she needs to be or it would make no sense.
Enjoy.
In the year of our lord 2012.
Lindsey Ann Way
(1979-2008)
Loving wife and daughter.
Always in our hearts.
He looks up, staring brokenly at the sunrise whilst the morning dew settles slowly at his feet. Staring off into the distance, his eyes only for her at this moment, he loses himself in time.
He remembers her, the smile that was kept only for him, the small moments of life parading before him as he wonders where she is. He longs to see her again, to feel the warmth of her touch, the smile that lingers in her eyes even after she forgets the cause of it, but he knows. He knows it will never be once again.
It was her time, he knows that, but he can't help wondering if he would have been different had she still been here. She taught him to see life as it was, to take the good moments and savour them, and to take the bad moments and handle them with as much dignity as he could muster. She taught him to love, a skill which is nowadays so rare, as it walks hand in hand with the art of respect. She teaches him, even now. He can hear her, admiring what a wonderful man he's become, how respectful and kind he is without her.
She is proud of him.
But no, how can he ever know that? She's gone, now and forever. He can hear her now, reprimanding him for being so fanciful, and allows himself an absent-minded smile as he remembers. He knows he shouldn't, that he's just making it harder for himself, but for a moment, a fleeting second, he feels alive, and it's the first time in years.
His body wakes from its cold slumber, his muscles warming as they work, as they carry him forwards, skimming his feet over the delicate grass. He's almost floating, the fingers of his left hand grazing gently along the weathered surface of the cemetery wall as the dappled sunlight falls in shafts through the branches above, glinting off the narrow metal band on his fourth finger.
His eyes see it, and his logical brain wonders why it's still there, but his heart, his soul shout back, screaming excuses of a love lost. He is in suspension between intelligence and incompetence. He must let go, but it's so hard. How can someone let go, when it was their world they lost?
His feet slow, their strides becoming smaller as he glides tentatively out into the morning light, his hands pulling the rusted iron gate closed behind him. He's leaving the graveyard behind him, physically and mentally, at least for now.
He likes this place, this empty wasteland of knee-high grass. It reminds him of summer, even on the coldest of winter mornings when you catch a chill of breathing. It's simple, and yet so complex, beautiful and calm. It reminds him of her, of them. A beautiful analogy, he thinks, only it's a shame she can't be there to hear it.
He treads through his surroundings, mind numbing out reality. He stops, realising that he's doing it again. He's living like she's by his shoulder, whispering love and wisdom in his ear still.
He needs to let go. These memories are killing him.
So why does it seem so pleasant, he asks. His mind rushes, showing him all the reasons not to let them take him- his parents, his brother, the band, the fans- but still, it's not enough for him. All he sees is her. It surrounds him, consumes him, this creature called love that people dream of. It can't let go. It controls him.
He wanders across the grass, his eyes seeing nothing, closed against the vibrancy of a life, of their life, of their possible life. He sees it, still, and it kills him. Memories are dangerous things when used as trophies in a game of fate, especially in the hands of emotions.
His eyes open, pupils small and muscles still, and any observer would find nothing in them but pigment, any hint of a soul removed by the battle raging in his heart. He fights this beast, unseeing and unknowing to anything but the march, and slowly, ever so slowly, he wins.
He starts, awoken from his daydream, wondering if this is how its going to happen from now on.
He refuses to let it go on like this. Memories are killing him, and he knows it's selfish to think otherwise. He thinks of his family, his friends and his fans, and smiles. He slides the wedding band off, tossing it into the long grass before him. He needs to let go, to choose between life and love.
He has his answer.
A/N: ConCrit would be lovely, but any comments are welcome. If you're confused, ask. =]
Oh, and P.S. Lyn-Z is not actually dead in real life. She is dead in this story, because she needs to be or it would make no sense.