another piece of writing from a previous post in a different point of view and in second person
From above the mansion was dark, lonely and with only a single visible window illuminated. The ground was pure white, a hare’s footprints the only mistakes on the perfect canvas. The air was chilly, but you knew it only from the hundreds of homes you could see over the hill with their chimney’s sending smoke spirals to space. From above you thought you could taste the clouds but it was only your own skin that you felt, and with a final look at the night sky you descended onto the mansion lawn.
You passed through tree and bush and drifted with the wind until you found the single illuminated window. Through it you could see a picture of yourself, younger, more lively, and in love. You had met him at a wedding that both of you had found yourselves out of place in. You drank at the bar, and danced to the music and talked about not much, he had been awkward and nervous, but inevitably charming. You went on six more “dates,” if that’s what they could be called. The picture was taken on your last outing, before you told him you were driving to your parents for the weekend to think things over, to recollect yourself.
Suddenly you saw his frame in the window. He looked drunk, wild, and as he opened the window he looked out and directly at you. You made eye contact, and you panicked, he shouted with fright and you tried to hide, but too late, you saw him fall back into the room with the window left open.
You floated silently upwards, and entered his living room. He was lying on the floor, with a small trickle of blood rolling down his forehead. You watched him for a moment, helpless there on the floor, his eyes were closed, but he began to speak, seemingly to no one, “I loved you. I wanted you to know... I wanted you…”
You knelt next to him, “I know,” you thought, “I know you did, and I’m sorry that I left, but I did. I left, and I’ll never regret anything more from my life. I never even got to my parents, and the little I remember of the accident was you, all that I can remember…”
“Sarah…” he coughed, his eyes were still closed, still talking to no one in particular, “Sarah…”
“Shhh,” you said, silently, making the gesture only with your hand. You touched his skin. He felt like the clouds, he felt like the night sky, he felt like everything you had felt for years now and if you could have cried you would have, because you wanted so badly for his warmth, for his feel. He shivered, and so you removed your hand, and went back to the window. It was dark out, but you felt the sun waiting, and with it your inevitable demise, your purgatory. You took another look at him, there on the floor. You stared, and for a moment… but it was gone as you lifted with the wind, away from Earth. Nothing feels like nothing more than this, and again you were with the sky and among the stars, and you knew you should have found it beautiful, but again you felt yourself callous and… closing your eyes you imagined the sky erupting, and you saw yourself riding back to Earth, back to life, to anything.