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mindcracklove2018-05-01 08:42 pm
Untouched Universes
Thanks to my lovely beta, Pika! this was also inspired by us being nostalgic, so blame her XD
The lamplighter was just starting to make his rounds, the streets slowly getting illuminated by the soft yellow orange of the fire. The city was really the most beautiful at night, he thought, watching the man move with practiced motion, opening the little glass panel, lighting the wick, closing it, and moving on to the next. It was silent in a way a city really shouldn’t be. But not eerily so. With the slowly changing season, and the slow bite of chill starting to set in, the city would be quiet like this till spring came once again and colored the world with vivid green fields and smatterings of pastel flowers. He can’t wait for the gentle breezes and sunshine filled days. But he also enjoys this. Enjoys the stillness of the days between fall and winter, when it’s still warm enough to be outside, but not cold enough for a thick coat. The man’s boots click against the sidewalk, a sound that echoes off the surrounding brick buildings. He watches the man disappear around a corner, leaving light trailing behind him.
Light from the street lights flicker against the glass on the buildings, and it’s almost like stars on a perfectly clear winter night when it’s too much for the lamplighter to get around anymore. When the only light is the twinkle of stars and the pale light from the moon. Oh how he longs for those nights. When he can curl up with blankets next to the chilled frosty glass of a window and look up to see the billions and billions of little lights in the sky. He longs for those days just as much as he longs for the warmth and color of spring.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
He glances up, being met with unruly blonde hair practically glowing in the lamp light, and he huffs a soft little laugh, “You ask that every time.”
“You’re always thinking,” the blonde laughs back softly, holding out his hand.
He takes it and pulls himself up from the steps where he’d been sitting, “What else am I supposed to do while you’re away?”
“Go out maybe? Like a normal person?”
He leads him into a building and up a couple flights of stairs, which leads to a small room with a vaulted roof and a big window, “I’ve never been normal,” he counters, grabbing a blanket and curling it around himself as he gets comfortable on the floor in front of the window.
“You’ve got me there,” he gets settled too, with his own blanket.
It’s quiet for several long minutes. Not an awkward silence, but the kind that feels settling and calm. He likes this, just sitting and looking out the window. Likes watching the light from the lamps dance across the streets, until they slowly fade away.
“You know, I heard they’re having a fall festival out in the town in a few days,” the blond comments, his voice soft, not shattering the silence, but adding to it.
“Oh?”
“Apparently it’s to celebrate the good crop season the farmers have had this year… and I think we should go.”
“We?”
“Well yeah, who else would I wanna take?”
He smirks a little, “No one else, I’d hope.”
“You know it’s only ever been you, Kurt,” he brushes his fingers along Kurt’s jaw.
He can’t help but lean into the warm, calloused touch, “I know, Z, I know.”
Zisteau’s hand moves to the back of Kurt’s neck and he leans in to kiss him. It’s soft and slow, a gentle tug of lips. When he pulls back, it’s like he can see the stars in Zisteau’s eyes, with the gentle flicker of light in the blue and green. They’re like a universe all their own. A place undiscovered and beautiful. Even more so than spring, or the quiet stillness of winter, or the fiery leaves of fall. It’s a place untouched by humanity. Unscathed from the harshness and hate. From the coldness of leaders, and the burning loathing of others. It’s a place that’s still perfect.
“What do you think the festival will be like?” he asks, leaving his hand twined with Zisteau’s on his lap.
“I think it’ll be beautiful,” they’re still close enough to feel the words on his own lips, “the fields are beautiful this time of year.”
“They are. Though it’s been awhile since I’ve had the chance to head out there. Been busy back here.”
“Then we are for sure going, so you can see the last of the leaves before they fall.”
“I guess we’ll have to go then.”
Zisteau smiles at him and kisses him again, because he’s right there, because the world is still and quiet, and there’s not a soul out there to judge them in that moment. They can have this. Maybe not every second of the day, or that many seconds, but they can have this, he just wishes the world thought they could too. But that’s not something he wants to think about right now, not when he knows that Zisteau finally has a morning off and can stay over. They may not get a lot of time to just be together, but they do get tonight, and he’ll take it. He’ll savor it like it’s the last bite of his mother’s famous gooey sweet rolls. He’ll savor it like the last few moments before the sun rises. He’ll savor it like the last day of summer. He’ll savor it like it’s the only thing he’s ever gonna get.
They don’t stay by the window too long. They move to the bed where it’s far warmer in a cocoon of blankets and quilts. They kiss there too, slow and languid, drawn out and sweet. They stay like that long into the night, until they’re both too tired to keep their eyes open. And when he wakes, he’s wrapped up in Zisteau’s strong arms. It’s warm and peaceful. He could stay here forever if the world allowed that of him. If it would just wait a few more minutes, no hours, to wake up. But the soft murmur of chatter from the towns people that reaches him reminds him that the world sadly doesn’t wait for them to be ready to start the day. It’s not on their schedule, it’s on it’s own.
“Zisteau,” he whispers, lips brushing against the warm skin of his shoulder, “It’s time to get up.”
“I know,” he mumbles back, eyes still closed, looking just as peaceful now as he did when was asleep and surely dreaming a wonderful dream.
He can’t help but to laugh softly, running a hand through his hair, “I know this game you’re trying to play.”
“Then why can’t you play along?”
“You have a job to get to.”
“I know, but can’t the world just wait?”
“We both know that’s not how that works.”
“It should be.”
He laughs again, “yeah, I know. But until it does, you have to get up and go.”
Zisteau finally opens his eyes, glancing down at him with the softest smile, “I love you,” the words are soft, just barely there, followed by a kiss that’s just as soft.
“I love you too,” he says back around a bright smile.
Zisteau kisses him again, and moves to get up. He misses the warmth instantly.
“When will I see you again?” he asks, because it’s never a certain thing. Sometimes they have to go days without seeing each other, cause that’s just how this world works. Sometimes jobs pull them away, sometimes it’s family, and other times, well, other times it’s just not safe. He hates those times the most.
“Tomorrow,” Zisteau answers softly, like he can see where his thoughts were going, “Tomorrow I’ll come by so we can go to the festival.”
“Then I’ll be waiting.”
“You always do.”
“I always will.”
He smiles at him and moves to kiss him. But the world doesn’t wait for them, so he moves away again and pulls on his boots, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” he parrots and pulls him in for one last kiss before he really has to leave.
He does leave, and the room feels exponentially colder without him. But he doesn’t dwell on that, because he too has stuff to do. He gets dressed and heads out onto the bustling streets. It’s odd seeing how lively the city is now compared to how it was just hours ago. It’s not quiet anymore, it’s full of life, and maybe that’s just as beautiful. His day goes by slow, and when he finally does get to go back home to sleep, all he can think of are blue-green untouched universes.
He sits on the steps outside his building, waiting. Zisteau would be around anytime now, and they could go. They could spend the day together out in the sun. He always longs for days like this. Longs for days when he can be with his love from sunrise to sunset and not have it be a problem. Not have their jobs constantly pulling them away from each other. One day they’ll get that, but for now, he’ll take every single second the world is willing to give him.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
He laughs at the unruly blonde hair, “everytime.”
“Would you expect any less?”
“From you?” he pulls himself up with the hand extended to him, “Never.”
“I’d hope not.”
He laughs as they start down the road. He despises the space between them with every step, despises the way their arms don’t even come close to touching. But he knew one day they could have this. They could walk through town with their arms linked or their fingers twined and people wouldn’t even bat an eye at them. But for now, he can walk a respectable distance away and pretend the foot between them didn’t feel like a lightyear. The fields were full of people, wandering around the booths set up. It was lovely to see, the color of the leaves and the sweet smell of pumpkin and ripe apple cider mixed so well. It really was the true definition of fall, yet the slight chill in the air was a forewarning of the winter to come.
“I told you it was beautiful,” Zisteau tells him.
“I never doubted you for a second.”
He smiles at him and they keep walking. It’s not like they can really share a moment like he’d like to. Like he’d maybe just like to kiss him, like to say romantic and cute stuff. But it’s far too dangerous to. There’s far too much risk to even consider trying anything. And they both know it. There’s a strict set of rules they must follow or... well, he really doesn’t even wanna think about the what ifs. They walk around the festival together, looking at all the booths, and stopping briefly at the little petting zoo set up to say hello to the bunnies and the horses. They spend a good portion of the day walking around the festival, but end up heading back towards town when the sun starts getting low in the sky. The streets are a little busier than normal when they get back, but even amongst the people he can see the lamplighter making his rounds.
“Can you stay?” He asks, dreading reaching his building, because he doesn’t want his time with Zisteau to end quite yet. But it always seems to end too soon.
Zisteau glances at his watch, then back up at him, “I can’t stay the night, but I can stay for a little while.”
“That’s enough for me,” he opens the door to the building, “It always will be.”
They went upstairs and finally got to kiss. Finally got to feel skin and heat. Finally got to love each other like they couldn’t all day, not like this, not physically. Mentally, and emotionally, they both know where they stand, both know that their feelings run deep and that at the end of the day, the risk being together brings, it’s all worth it. Especially for times like these, when they get to be physical, get to have what every other couples do. It’s moments like this that make him feel a little more normal, though he’s never been normal.
Later, with their clothes a trail leading from the door to the bed, and Zisteau wrapped around him, warm, slightly sticky skin pressed together, not knowing exactly where one begins and the other ends, that the quiet of the night slowly starts to begin. It’s the dying chatter from the townspeople, all going into their homes to get away from the cold, and curl up near the fire in the fireplace with their loved ones and kids. He doesn’t need to look out the window to know that all the streetlights have already been lit, and the fire will be dancing along the buildings. Time, for him, is always measured by what happens, the constant unfolding of consistent events. Spring comes with color and rain, winter comes with chilly wind, snow, and deserted streets, fall comes with the changing of leaves and the slight chill in the air. Night comes with the click of boots, the fire of the lamplights, and the quiet of the street. He knows that six o’clock comes around because that’s when Zisteau’s off work, and comes to him. He knows that eleven o’clock is here when Zisteau has to leave again.
“You have to go, don’t you?” he asks, his voice loud against the quiet.
Zisteau sighs softly, nose pressed against his neck, “Yeah.”
He pouts, but knows that he must go, he has things to do and work to get to.
“But, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll miss you till then.”
He laughs, his lips brushing against warm skin, “You know I’ll miss you too.”
“Yeah, I know,” he laughs too, and snuggles closer, even if he can only enjoy it for a little bit longer.
He shifts so he’s able to kiss him, and they stay like that for several minutes, and it’s nice. It’s all he ever wants every second of the day, but he understands that that’s just not how the world works, as much as he longs for it to be. Eventually, Zisteau gets up and collects his clothes, pulling them on, and he can’t help but watch unashamedly, because he loves this man, he loves every single aspect of him, from his quirky humor to all the little scars on his body. He loves him.
Zisteau comes over and kisses him softly, then presses a kiss to his head, “I love you,” he says, and it’s soft and calm, yet has this quiet passion to it.
“I love you too,” he says back, pulling him down for one more kiss, because he can, and he wants to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Zisteau whispers against his lips.
He leaves after that, and Kurt sorely misses him the second he’s gone. It’s a feeling he hates, missing someone even though he knows that he’ll him again soon enough. Tomorrow. He’d see him again tomorrow. It’s always been like this. The distinct lose he feels everytime they part ways, ever since the beginning when they first met, and even more so after their first kiss. He thinks he’ll always feel this way, that he’ll always have to miss Zisteau, even though they’re always in the same town. Though he knows why, he knows that it’s not either of their faults. It’s not like they can control how others think and feel. If they could, well, they’d be able to walk around town without the fear of being hung, or sent off to a camp. Because apparently their love is wrong.
The next day is slow. It feels like every time he glances up at the clock that only mer seconds have passed, even though they each single second feels like an eternity. Not all days are like this, some go by in the blink of an eye, and some feel like a slow stroll through the park. He hates days that feel like he’s walking through sand on an unbearably hot day; like he just can’t get out of it soon enough to not totally destroy the bottoms of his achy feet. He’s glad when he’s finally done for the day, so he can go home, to where Zisteau will come and they can enjoy each other till the streets are quiet and void of life beyond the flicker of the fire from the street lights.
He gets back to his building and drops his work stuff off in his room before heading back out and sitting down on the steps. He watches the streets slowly start to clear and the lamplighter start making his rounds. People give him a wave as they walk by. The lamplighter disappears around a corner. He glances down the street, but he doesn’t see the unmistakable unruly blonde hair or the soft smile, or the untouched blue-green universes.
He waits.
And he waits.
By the time the lamplighter comes back around to light the other side of the street, he goes inside. He wraps a blanket around himself and sits by the window. He watches the street. He watches as nothing happens, beyond the wind blowing papers around and the flicker of the street lights. He doesn’t want to think about worst-case scenarios, he really doesn’t, but his mind seems to want to go there. It probably wouldn’t go there, but this is the first time Zisteau has ever just not shown up. Not come to find him and ask for his thoughts with that silly little phrase. He doesn’t want to think that it could have happen. Not when they’ve both been so careful. Not when it hasn’t happened to anyone in a while. But he knows full well that it does still happen often enough for it to be the case. He just really hopes it’s not. Zisteau also could’ve gotten busy, he could’ve had something come up and not have a way to notify him. So it was fine, he decided, as he watched the silent street, he would probably come tomorrow and they could spend time together. Be together for a while. He may say it’s fine, but deep down, it doesn’t feel fine.
The next day he waits on the steps and watches the town slowly go to sleep, falling silent as the lamplighter makes his rounds, down one side of the street and then the other. He sits and waits long into the night, not retiring to his room till well past when the moon is high in the sky. And even then he sits by his window, watching as the sun starts to rise, the sky slowly becoming lighter in brilliant shades of purples, pinks, oranges, and the blue of a pale late autumn sky. He’s exhausted at work that day, barely able to stay awake, barely able to focus on anything his boss is saying. It’s a miracle he gets through the day in one piece, an even bigger miracle that he doesn’t fall asleep waiting for Zisteau. For his gorgeous man with unruly blonde hair and blue and green eyes, that could truly be universes all their own because of their vastness. He waits till dawn that day too, before he passes out leaning against his window.
A few days later, he’s watching the sunrise from the step, the light filters between the buildings, and it’s beautiful. It would be even more so if he weren’t just so upset. Zisteau hadn’t come by in almost a week. They’ve never been apart for this long, only ever a few days at a time. Before he thought that maybe he’d just gotten busy, which was okay, obviously, because that kind of thing happens, but this was different, and the longing he felt now was far greater now than it was before. Now he wasn’t sure what was going to happen. He hadn’t even seen him around town, which was even weirder, cause they normally saw each other across the street at the very least. He couldn’t even go looking for him, because the last time he went over to his place--he’s still living with his parents--they were almost caught. And his parents are already suspicious of them. So he can’t just go over there, not like he is now, an absolute disaster. The dark circles under his eyes have gotten worse, and his skin is far paler than usual, and he felt like he was on the verge of tears. He has been for days. This wasn’t like Zisteau. Not at all. He’s never once done this is in the ten years they’ve been together. They have this whole thing down.
He’s just waiting for his love to come to him again.
“Kurt…?”
His head snaps up, his heart thumping in his chest, even though he knows it’s not Zisteau, because he never greets him like that. He never would.
“I-I think we should talk.”
It’s Zisteau’s sister. She was the only one who knew about them. She’s the only one okay with them. He can’t even bring himself to answer. His voice just doesn’t want to work. So he nods and stands up, his joints cracking as he does so, and gestures her inside. Once he’s shut and locked the door behind him, he sits down on the bed.
She sits down beside him, “Kurt,” she starts, setting a hand on his knee, “I uh. I’m not really sure…” she stops and takes a deep breath, “My parents… they… they had him taken away.”
It's like the world stopped turning...or maybe it started turning so fast that it seemed to be frozen. Or maybe it was just him that was frozen, because the world stops for no one, especially not someone like him.
“T-they did?” his voice cracks, and breaks, and doesn’t sound complete.
Because this shouldn't be happening. This shouldn’t be the case. Zisteau should still be right here beside him, watching the world fall asleep and go silent as the moon rises far above them. He should be here, but he’s not, and the world just seems to fall away.
“Yeah…” her voice is quiet in a broken way, “I don’t know how they found out.”
“We’ve been so careful…”
“I know. If I wouldn’t have accidentally walked in on you, I’d never have known.”
That should’ve been funny. Should’ve been a good joke that they could both laugh about. But it’s not. “Will-will he be back?”
She glances at him, with the same blue eyes as Zisteau’s, and they’re sad, full of sorrow, “I don’t know…”
“Is he gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know…” She sighs heavily and looks away, the amount of guilt in her eyes is far too much for how young she is, “are you gonna be okay?”
He shakes his head, “I-I don’t think I will be.”
She smiles and it’s somewhere between sad and bitter, “I’m not sure I will be either.”
She says something else, but he doesn’t know what, because she sounds far away, echoey and barely there. Kind of like she’s at the other end of a long tunnel from him, screaming to be heard over the miles. Or maybe it sounds like they’re underwater, and both struggling to breathe. He’s not sure, but he doesn’t feel like there’s anything solid beneath him. He thinks that maybe she says something about work, about being sick, but he doesn’t know, because he just...can’t. It’s like his body decided it didn’t need to work anymore. Or that he’d suddenly gained a million pounds and just couldn’t move. He doesn’t remember curling up on his side, or when he’d started crying, or even when she left. He doesn’t know. It’s like his mind is trying to run in a race, and he sees the person in first, but he just can’t catch up.
Next thing he knows, it’s dark and quiet, and he feels like shit. He knows it’s late, because all the streetlights are lit, but he doesn’t feel like he could sleep anymore, even if he wanted too. Which he’s not sure he does. He feels like he weighs a million pounds, like gravity is pushing him down. But he’s not tired. He’s not sure he really feels anything at this point. It’s like his heart is a bottomless pit. He just lays there, looking out the chilled window, watching the world through the frost. He wonders if this is what it feels like to be dead. This emotionless feeling. Eventually, he gets up and moves to sit by the window, cocooned in blankets. There’s not much he can do...there isn’t anything he can do. Zisteau is gone, and he’s not sure if he’s ever coming back. And even if he does, will he be the same person Kurt knows and loves? There’s so many unknowns in this whole thing, so much that he can’t predict. But, there is one thing he knows, it’s that he loves Zisteau, so he grabs a pen and a notebook and starts writing. Because that’s all he can seem to do.
Life goes on. Time keeps ticking. The world keeps moving. Because even when he feels stuck, the world doesn’t wait for him to catch up. It doesn’t wait for him to find his footing. Doesn’t wait for him to start feeling things again. It doesn’t wait for anything, especially not something like this. Kurt isn’t really living, he’s going through the motions. Wake up, go to work, head home, eat, sit outside and wait, head inside, write, sleep, and repeat. He’s not sure what day it is anymore, they all blur together, all combine into one long suffering cycle. He knows time passes though. Events take place, the lamplighter goes by as the sun is starting to set and he comes by again around ten. After that he’s not sure, because he usually knew by when Zisteau had to go. He knows it’s winter, because the streets are almost always deserted, but it’s been a mild winter, not bad enough yet that the lamplighter can’t make his rounds. But it’s been cold, the wind brutal and bitter. Everything about it has been horrible. And Zisteau being gone, well, that makes it so much worse.
Spring slowly rolls in, bringing with it warmer air and rolling thunder on gloomy days. It brings with it color, the vibrant grass, the green leaves, the beautiful pastels of the flowers. He usually loves spring, loves walking through the fields of flowers on the sunny days when there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun is warming the air. It’s days like those that he loves, but even now, as he watches the leaves grow and the flowers blossom, he just can’t seem to enjoy it. He doesn’t exactly feel numb anymore, just sad. It’s this feeling that’s constantly there no matter what he does. He knows, realistically, that this will eventually subside. He knows that eventually he will be able to smile a real smile again. He knows eventually Zisteau will just be this faint memory, because he’s sure that he’s not coming back at this point. It’s not an idea that’s settled yet, it’s more an itch under his skin, constantly there. He’s just trying to deny it for as long as he can, because he loves Zisteau, loves him with his whole heart, and doesn’t want to resign to the fact that he’s probably not coming back. He’s been holding onto that last strand of hope deep in his gut that he’ll come back and sweep him off his feet once again.
But that hope doesn’t last. Not when summer comes and goes, falling to the chiller air of fall. The vibrant greens gives way to oranges, reds, and browns. The sky is cloudy far more than it is blue, and the leaves fall and the air gets colder and colder. Then winter rolls in, and unlike the last year, it’s brutal. The snow never seems to stop for long, and the air is far colder than it has been in years. The wind is brutal, and he ends up snowed in multiple times. The whole town suffers through the long, long winter. It’s a miracle when spring comes and takes away the snow. The town after that seems to be thriving. The streets are far more crowded and full of life. And, for Kurt, as shocking as it seems, is slowly starting to feel again. He’s not always sad, though the sadness isn't gone completely. It comes and goes, though it's still around far more than it's gone. And it's never completely gone, just less noticeable.
It’s not like the sadness will completely go away, not after ten years of loving someone, not after the best years of his life. It’s the little things throughout the day that bring the sadness back to the forefront. The blue of the sky. The green of the leaves. A man with blond hair. A soft laugh. The worst of all, other couples, people who walk around, arms linked, hands held, smiling and laughing, carefree. Because for them, they still have their whole world right at their fingertips. But he doesn’t. Some nights it feels like maybe if he presses his hand to the chilled glass of his window, that Zisteau is there, his calloused hand pressed back against his, his hair unruly, his smile soft, gentle, sweet, and his eyes shining and gorgeous and so deep. It’s nights like those that he doesn’t really sleep. Where he sits by the window and just watches the silent night. He tries to imagine where Zisteau is, and if he’s okay. No one really knows what happens at the camps. And everyone who does come back, well, they’re not exactly the same person as everyone remembered. But, he tries not to fear the worst. But he’s also not naive enough to not realize that Zisteau may not even be alive anymore. He wants to believe more than anything that he’s okay, that he’ll come to his steps and ask him, “Penny for your thoughts?” and then they’ll be together till the world draws him away. Oh how he wishes he were naive enough to believe any of that could actually happen. But sadly, that’s not how the world works. He hadn’t necessarily come to terms with it, but he’s trying. All he can seem to do is try.
Day to day life doesn’t necessarily get easier as the season starts changing. It’s been well over a year at this point, and he may not be perfect, nowhere near it, but he’s living again, maybe that's the silver lining to this. Zisteau may not be coming back, but maybe he could live with the weight of that. He guesses time could only really tell.
The lamplighter was just starting to make his rounds, which seemed to get slower and slower with the passing months. He was just folding a blanket to go into a box when a little notebook fell out of it, landing with a thump and a cloud of unsettled dust. He sets the blanket aside and picks up the notebook, blowing off some dust. He glances out the window and sees light dancing off the brick walls. He’d been finishing off his packing, he was moving to a new town where his scribe skills were needed. He’d been here for so long, in this little room. He’d lived through so much here, and maybe he was glad he was moving on...moving away. Slowly he opens the book and sees his scrolling handwriting covering the entire page that’s visible. He doesn’t even realize he’d started crying until a tear dropped down and hit the ink covered page. Zisteau...Zisteau, Zisteau, Zisteau. He still misses him dearly, even after these past five years, but life moves on, and so did he. Time does that to you. And, sometimes you just have to roll with it, even if he hated how his love became a distant memory. He turns his attention back the the slightly smeared ink…
Zisteau, my love, I’ve been waiting and waiting for you. I didn’t want to believe you’d been taken, but you know me, I’ve always feared the worst, and now that I know it’s true, I’m not sure how to feel. Empty? I think that’s the best way to describe it. I can’t even imagine how you feel right now. I just miss you, more and more everyday. I wish there was something I could’ve done, like maybe you could’ve stayed, and then you’d still be here and not god knows where, and doing god knows what. I’ve only ever heard stories about the camps, and none of them were too kind. I just want you to be okay...to come back to me.
My love, each passing day seems harder. I couldn’t tell you what day it is, sometimes I'm not even sure where I am. I’m just lost, Zisteau, I never seem to know anything anymore it seems. I’m just...lost.
You know, some nights, when I sit by my window, it’s almost like you’re still here, like I can feel your presence. But you’re not here, and that fact haunts me. I’m the reason you’re there. I know I am. If we never risked being together, than you’d never have been sent away. I’d have missed the best ten years of my life, but then you’d still be here, and not being tortured...or whatever they’re doing to you. I know you’d instantly berate me for even considering the possibility that I was to blame, but I know deep down it’s true. But I can imagine it now, the look you’d give me: one of pure disbelief, you’d do that cute thing where you put your hands on your hips, and you’d get the cutest little wrinkle between your eyebrows. I can just hear you, telling me that I could never do a thing wrong. That I’m perfect exactly the way I am. It’s almost enough to make me laugh...almost. But, I know it is my fault, I know I don't pressure you into anything, because you were just as committed as I, but it’s still my fault, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think differently. Because you know, that’s just how I am.
Lately, it seems like every little thing reminds me of you. I can’t go even five minutes without thinking of you. Which, normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but it is now. Because I miss you constantly. And I know you’re gone, and that makes it so much worse. Before it wasn’t so bad, because I knew you’d be coming around once you were off work, but now, no matter how long I sit and wait, you’re just not coming.
I think people are starting to think something is up with me, but they’re too afraid to ask. It’s like this whole thing, where they somehow know, but don’t at the same time. And because of that, they’re too afraid to ask and see, because it seems like everyone likes me, and they’d hate to see me gone, but I thought everyone liked you too. But apparently that wasn’t so. I almost wish I didn’t know what happened. Maybe that would’ve made this more bearable. But even that I’m not sure about. Maybe it would’ve felt more like betrayal that way. Though I know you’d do everything in your power to make sure I was okay. You’d never hurt me and I know that. I know that because I’ve known and loved you for ten years. Ten of the best years of my life. And just so you know, even with everything that has happened I would never take it back. Loving you has been the easiest and happiest thing in my life. Loving you made life worth living.
Somedays I forget this notebook even exists. Somedays I wish it didn’t, because it reminds me of you, obviously, because it’s too you? For you? For myself? I’m not entirely sure anymore. It started as a way to write out my feelings, but I’m not sure. I’m just not sure about anything right now anyway. But I always seem to come back to this no matter how long I forget it exists. Even though you’re constantly on my mind, no matter how hard I try to ignore the sadness. But just the thought of you makes me sad, and I hate that, because I used to always be so happy and excited when you came to mind. I hate that that isn’t the case anymore.
I think it’s finally set in that you’re not coming back. It’s been so long, though I couldn’t tell you exactly how much time, because time is lost to me. It’s a miracle I even get to work on time some days. But...well…
You’re not coming back.
It’s been long enough to know that you’re not coming back, that I’ll never see you again. I can’t say I’ve come to terms with it, because I haven't. Because part of me still believes you’re just down the road at work. That part of me won’t ever stop believing that, I’m sure of it. But, I think I’ve accepted that it’s true, even if it may never seem completely real. I don’t think I’ll ever fully be okay again, to be honest, but I think the fact that I now know you’re not coming back is finally settling in, that maybe it’ll be a little easier from now on, I can only hope, because, even if everyday life is easier, it’s still hard whenever I’m reminded of you. But, even as I sit here, watching the lamplighter make his rounds, it feels like you’ll be here in just a little bit, with that dopey smile and unruly hair, and you’ll come up to me, with the softest eyes, and you’ll ask: “Penny for your thoughts?”
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........
T_T
Right in the feels Bubbles....it started off like a happy Victorian gay romance and then descended into such feels.
It's great and I love it, but my heart...
*wipes away a tear and hands Bubbles a box of cookies*
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(Anonymous) 2018-05-12 07:48 pm (UTC)(link)-Observing Anon
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